


The Four Innocents:  Someday, Someway

by Azalea542



Series: The Four Innocents [4]
Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: 1960's, Alternate Universe - Earth, Gen, Male Friendship, friendship better than romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea542/pseuds/Azalea542
Summary: Relationships are explored, Matt helps a suicidal actress, the boys celebrate Christmas, Timmy learns how to surf, and more!





	1. Six Pairs

SIX PAIRS

PAIR ONE:SELWYNWARD

It was a beautiful southern California morning. "Too bad Timmy and Patrick are never up to enjoy it," Danny remarked. He and his bandleader were sitting on the porch, gazing out at the sea.

"Yeah, well, they think **we're** out of **our** minds," Matt said. "Getting up early when we could sleep in late."

"It's already almost ten! What do you want to do until they get up?"

"We could go down to Baird's," Matt suggested.

At Baird's, Matt thumbed through British Invasion albums. "Hey, did you read that article in the paper about British songwriters?" Baird asked him conversationally.

"Yeah, it was interesting."

"Have you written any more songs for you band?"

"Not lately."

Danny noticed that Clio kept looking up from her stock work, gazing at a television. The commercials were on now, so Danny asked her, "Whatcha watching?"

"Some western about cowboys and Indians."

Matt snorted. "And the Indians are the bad guys, right?"

"Looks like it," she said nonchalantly.

"You know," Danny remarked. "I've always liked westerns and I like seeing Indians, but I do prefer it when these movies stick to good gunslinger versus bad gunslinger."

The movie returned, but instead of a battle, the scene showed a tender conversation between a husband and his wife. The man was a rugged pioneer, the woman an American Indian. "At least they think she's all right," Matt observed. 

"So maybe they're not attacking Indians as a whole," Clio pointed out.

"Just those rotten few that are trying to defend their native territory against the whites who have the right to steal it from them," Danny remarked.

Clio raised an eyebrow at Matt. He held up his hands defensively. "Hey, **I** didn't say it."

Near the end of the movie, the Fig Leaves walked in. "Oh boy, look who's here," Danny pointed out to Matt, but for the moment, the rival band seemed content to ignore them.

The credits of the movie came on. "So what did you think?" Danny asked his bandleader.

"About the movie?"

"Yeah, well, that too. But about how they treated Indians? Were they fair?"

"Westerns never are," Matt replied. "Actually, this one was tolerable, though."

"I knew it must have been. You didn't shut the telly off before it was over."

"Didn't kick the set in either."

Clio crossed her arms. "Well, I'm glad to hear that."

"You know, even when I was young and learning history, or watching westerns, I could tell the Indians weren't treated fairly," Danny remarked. "Even though the movies were made so that we were supposed to root for the palefaces."

"Well, it really doesn't take much to see that," Matt concurred. "I always wondered how the 'palefaces' justified their actions."

"I've always been a bit fascinated by the Red Indian, though. Debby is, too."

Matt smirked. "Not Donna, though, I suppose."

"Actually, I don't think she cares one way or the other, you know? Anyway, I think it's really cool that you're an Indian, and you come from way out west and all."

Matt blushed. "Sure, I'm an Indian. I'm an Apache. But I was raised in a white family—Well, I also have European and Latino blood in me.”

"So? You never hid your heritage, though."

Matt looked into the distance. "You wanna know something? I've always been fascinated with British nobility, fairy tales and manors and villages..."

"No kidding."

"And I think it's cool that you come from a manor in a little English village."

Danny smiled.

Beanie poked his head between them. "Well, of course, he’s English—look at his height! He’s a full-blooded Leprechaun!"

“That’s Irish!” Danny snapped.

Oliver walked up, peering at Matt's face. "Yep, he's an Indian, all right. I never really thought about it before."

"About the Indians not being treated fairly?" Danny asked.

"No, I just didn't realize he was an Indian. If I did, it would have given us even more cause not to dig you."

"Just what do you mean by that?" Danny demanded.

"Indians killed my great-grandfather," Oliver said. “They massacred him, then stripped him of his clothes and left him lying naked in the sun.”

“Well, I wouldn’t do that to any of your relatives,” Matt said, exasperation coloring his tone.

With relish, Oliver added, "You guys are nothing but a bunch of ignorant savages."

It was Danny who lunged at Oliver's throat. Matt held him back. "Danny," he began chidingly.

"But he insulted your people, Matt!" his bandmate protested.

"Our nobility speaks for itself," Matt said, then turned to Oliver. "And just as bad things could be said about whatever ethnic group you come from."

Baird stepped between the two parties. "Look, fellas," he said, as though addressing all of them, but mainly speaking to the Fig Leaves. "No rivalries allowed in this store. In here, we're all brothers."

"Groovy," Danny said.

After Matt and Danny had left, the latter spotted a pretty Asian girl. "Hello," he greeted.

"Hello," she returned shyly, looking down at the ground.

"I was just noticing your Oriental heritage," Danny told her. "Are you Chinese, or Japanese, or--?"

"It's none of your business!" she exclaimed, and clutching her purse tightly, she walked away.

"Wait!" Danny cried, and ran after her. "What's wrong?"

"What's it matter to you where my ancestors come from? I'm not inferior to you in any way."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "Inferior? Who said anything about you being inferior?"

She looked down at the ground again. "Oh, so you weren't saying that?"

"No, not at all. Look, Miss, you don't have to tell me if you're Chinese or Japanese or whatever. But from whatever people you're from, there's nothing to be ashamed about. Why, the Chinese have a rich heritage of art and dynasties. And the Japanese also have a fantastic legacy in arts and entertainment."

"My parents came from Southeast Asia," she said.

"Oh, so that's it! Worried about all the bad press lately. But everything has its good points as well as its bad. One day, all that news will be over with, and just be a small part of history." He could see her smile slightly as she kept her eyes focused on the sidewalk. "And hold your head up. Keeping your neck bent over like that's not good for your posture."

Matt had been standing at a distance, now Danny called him over. "This is my mate, Matt here. He's an American Indian, and he's proud of it. He's not ashamed that they got defeated by the Europeans or anything."

"Yeah, us Native Americans have a lot to be proud of," Matt told her. "You'd be surprised at how many things in modern US society were influenced by Indians."

"Okay," the girl said.

"Okay what?" Matt wondered.

"I won't act anymore as though my heritage were something to be ashamed about."

"Good girl," Danny said. "'Cause it's not."

Matt and Danny ate lunch out, then returned home to check on Timmy and Patrick. "I can't believe they're still asleep!" Danny exclaimed.

Matt sighed. "So what do we do now? We've been to Baird's, been--"

Danny leaped up. "Hey, that's what we could do!"

"What?"

"Write a song. Baird was asking if we had written any more. We could always use more songs in our line-up."

"As long as we don't try to publish them," Matt mentioned dryly.

"You still not over that rejection?" Danny asked in disbelief. Matt nodded. "I told you that publisher was just one mere, imperfect mortal prone to error in judgement."

Matt chuckled. "You always were good at straightening me out."

"So let's get on with it then, shall we? Let's see, when Larsen and MacFarlane write a song together, they use the moniker MacFarlarsen."

"I know that," Matt said, wondering what Danny was getting at.

"Well, take our last names. Both of them have the 'win' sound in it. Mine at the end, yours at the beginning. Selwyn Winward. That could be tricky to say if you say it fast. So we shorten it down to just Selwynward."

"That's cool," Matt agreed. "But what about the song?"

"This morning's experiences gave me an idea about a topic I'd like to deal with..."

In a few hours, they had finished, and upon exiting the music storage room, were glad to see that Timmy and Patrick had rose quite awhile earlier. "We've got something we'd like to show you," Danny told them. "A song by Selwynward, the next song the Four Innocents are learning."

"It's called 'Show No Shame'," Matt added.

Show no shame in who you are

It doesn't matter

Whether you come from near or far

People are scattered

All over the earth we live

In many ways

Good and bad we both give

All of our days

Each people has its shame

We have strayed

But we also have our fame

And are well-made

So show no shame in your race

It has its good

We each have our own place

In brotherhood

PAIR TWO: THE WATCHDOG PUPS

Patrick had recently finished a painting featuring two playful puppies, one a Golden Retriever and the other an Irish setter. The dogs were not tiny babies anymore, but they still had not grown into their big paws. In the picture, they were happily frolicking with each other, behind a chain link fence with a sign featuring the warning, "Beware of the dogs". Patrick had entitled the piece _Watchdog Pups_. 

When Danny saw it, he remarked, "It's a symbolic piece."

"Huh?" Patrick asked, having intended it to be no more than it actually was.

Danny seemed undaunted and continued telling the artist what his work was about. "Yeah, see that golden dog is you, and the redhead dog is Timmy. And you're having the time of your lives together playing like puppies. And the reason you're watchdogs is because you stay up so late."

Patrick shrugged and grinned in resignation. "Whatever you say."

"That must be why you sleep all morning," Danny said. "Matt and I thought you two would never get up today."

That night, after sleepy Matt and Danny had gone to bed, their two bandmates sat on the couch. Patrick showed his work to Timmy. "...And Danny says that's me, and that's you."

"I look like a dog!" Timmy exclaimed. "Ruff!"

"And he says we like to play like--" Still barking, Timmy knocked him over, and they tumbled to the floor. "--Puppies," Patrick completed.

Patrick began to laugh hysterically, and Timmy realized their romping was getting too loud, and might wake their two bandmates. "Let's go out on the beach," he decided.

They ran out and frolicked at the edge of the sea. Then Timmy caught sight of a bunch of kids down the beach. When the wind blew just right, he and Patrick could also hear snatches of radio music and conversation, and could smell hot dogs on the grill. "Beach party!" Timmy exclaimed. "Let's go check it out."

"I don't think any of your favorite girl stars are gonna be there," Patrick warned him, knowing the crush Timmy had on some beach movie actresses.

"Oh, I know that. I just wanna see what's going on from a little closer up."

They walked towards the distant festivity, passing by many beach rocks on the way. Between two such rocks, Patrick and Timmy discovered that they had disturbed a passionate couple.

Surprised, the two Innocents stared for a moment before realizing that it was impolite. The swimsuit attired teen lovers stared back. 

Then the male of the duo realized what he wanted to do next. Leaping up off his girlfriend and shaking a fist, he shouted, "You pervert jerks!" The friends could smell the alcohol on his breath even from where they were standing.

"Oh, Steve, don't!" the girl pleaded.

Steve growled and appeared to be prepared to chase after the intruders, so Patrick and Timmy ran, almost to their house, but then Timmy steered them in the direction of the now closer beach party.

They arrived safely and didn't see Steve breathing or growling behind them. A crowd of teenagers was gathered around in a circle, and in the center stood a pretty but tough looking brunette girl with a guitar. "Sing for us, Johnnie!" many girls in bikinis and guys in swim trunks pleaded.

Johnnie, dressed in jeans and a sleeveless turtleneck, smiled a big, toothy grin, but nonetheless, looked embarrassed. "I really can't play too well."

A new girl arrived, a redhead, the girl who was with Steve. "Who cares? Play 'Tell it to the DJ'."

"Hey, I know that one," Patrick remarked to his companion.

Nervously, Timmy glanced back and saw Steve join his girlfriend. Aloud to Johnnie, he announced, "Patrick's a guitarist. He knows that one."

"Timmy!" Patrick exclaimed, turning red.

"Don't worry. You always do fine once you get playing. Besides, that Steve fella won't bother us this way."

"Hell, come on up," Johnnie said, and Patrick and Timmy joined her in the center of the circle. "You play anything?"

"I play drums," Timmy replied.

"Anybody got anything he can bang on?" Johnnie asked her admirers.

A boy dragged up a cooler. "Here, he can pretend this is a set of bongos."

Timmy shrugged and smiled and took a seat on the sand, placing his hands on the cooler lid. Johnnie took off her guitar and placed the strap over Patrick's neck. "I'll give a countdown and then I'll break right in, in C," the singer told them. They nodded. "One two three four--'You say you're sorry for what you said/ Well, tell it to the DJ/ Without me you're going out of your head/ Well, tell it to the DJ'..."

Patrick was doing fine playing chords to accompany Johnnie's singing, and realized Timmy was right. Once he started performing, his painful self-consciousness faded to a controllable amount.

Johnnie continued:

"Baring your soul on the radio

Maybe I'll believe you then

Confess your love for me to all you know

Then tell the DJ to play it again"

Timmy was a little more insecure, without a proper drum set or even a legitimate drum, but he was doing sufficiently beating out a rhythm during the lines, and hand rolls in between them.

"Dedicate to me our special song

It might bring back the joy

Say on the air how you were wrong

So it's heard by every girl and boy"

Johnnie repeated the chorus, then wrapped up the song with a signal to Patrick. The teens applauded and Johnnie congratulated Patrick and Timmy, shaking their hands. "Hey, thanks, you two, you were all right."

"That was cool," one girl said. "Who are you two anyway? I don't recognize you from our school."

"Oh, we live down the beach," Timmy explained. "We just got curious when we heard the music and saw the commotion down here."

"They're trying to crash our party!" Steve accused.

"Oh, Steve!" his girlfriend chided, and the other teens also showed their support. Steve growled, but then seemed to give in to his girlfriend's opinion.

"What do you go by?" Johnnie asked.

"Oh, I'm Timmy, and this is Patrick."

"What school do you go to?" a peppy blond asked. "We go to Benedict High. Go Bengals!" The crowd cheered as if at a pep rally.

"Oh, we got out in June," Timmy explained. "But we went to Stockdale."

"You're out of school? Cool! We just all started our senior year."

"So are you guys part of a band or what?" Johnnie asked.

"Yeah," Timmy began.

"The Four Innocents," Patrick stated proudly.

"We all live together down the beach aways, like I said."

"That must be so groovy," a crew cut boy remarked. "No rules...You can stay up as late as you want."

"Yeah, Patrick and I like to stay up late. But our friends Matt and Danny are early birds."

By this time, the circle of teens was breaking up. The partygoers gathered around in smaller groups to converse and sample snacks from the coolers, grocery bags, and grill.

Johnnie sidled up between the two bandmates and put an arm around each of their waists. "So, I bet you have fun."

"Yeah," the two sighed fondly, accompanying her as she led them away from the clusters of partygoers.

"No list of dating rules to follow that's as long as a law book," Johnnie continued.

Timmy merely shrugged. "Well," Patrick began, but also let it go. They didn't feel like giving her a lengthy explanation of their celibacy.

Johnnie kneeled down by a cooler. "Would you like some beer?"

"Aren't we all a bit young?" Timmy reminded her.

"Oh, come on, nobody has to know. My dad's the police chief, and he's turning a blind eye towards our after-hours party here."

"No, thanks," Timmy said firmly.

"What about you?" Johnnie asked Patrick. 

"He doesn't want any either."

Johnnie smirked at him and looked at the one at which the question had been directed. "No, he's right, I don't want any," Patrick told her, in a tone that let her know without a doubt that it was his decision as well as Timmy's.

"Oh, you sissies--!" Johnnie began to tease, then perked up. The radio had been turned back on, and the Seniors from Benedict were all grooving and twisting. "Never mind. Let's go join them."

They bounded back, and Johnnie began to shake and undulate her body in a most sensual way, placing herself in front of Timmy. To accommodate her, he also danced, exaggerating the movements of the popular variations to camp effect. Patrick stood numbly by, occasionally tilting back and forth and from side to side, looking as though he were slow dancing without a partner. "Come on, Patrick, let's tango!" Timmy cried, grabbing his new dance partner and leading him in backward steps.

Johnnie laughed at their antics, slapping her denim-clad thighs. "Oh, you two are so silly! Now I can see why you don't need any beer."

Some of the teens, not just Steve, had apparently had too much alcohol. One brunette girl, loosened by music as well as drink, tore off her bikini top and did not miss a beat. The crowd roared, shrieked, and whistled, but then got on with their frugging. Johnnie was distracted, wondering how her peer was getting away with this. Then a boy came with a beach towel and wrapped it around the girl's torso.

Johnnie turned back to Timmy and Patrick and did not have to ask them if they saw what had happened. Timmy had placed his hands over Patrick's eyes, and had his own eyes shut as well. "Tell that girl to kindly put her clothes back on," Timmy requested in a soft, intense voice.

"Don't worry, she's been taken care of." Still the two did not budge. "Honestly, fellas, you can open your eyes now. It's safe."

First, Timmy lifted his head and saw that Johnnie had been telling the truth. Then he removed his hands from his friend's face, revealing shut eyelids underneath. "She's right, Patrick, it's okay." Patrick blinked his eyes open.

"You two sure are goody-two-shoes," Johnnie observed. "Especially for guys out on their own."

"Yeah, I guess this party isn't for us, and we really shouldn't wander away from our backyard after curfew," Timmy confessed. "Anyway, we just don't seem to fit in with this crowd."

"We don't fit in with any," Patrick commented.

Johnnie sighed, realizing it was indeed time for them to go. "Oh, that's all right, some people just aren't party animals. As a matter of fact, I think you boys are more like puppies."

"Funny you should say that," Timmy told her.

"Yeah, we're the Watchdog Pups," Patrick explained mysteriously.

"I thought you said your band was the Four Innocents," Johnnie reminded them.

"Yeah, it is," Timmy said. "But Danny said we were the Watchdog Pups and I guess he's right." Seeing that Johnnie's facial expression still displayed puzzlement, he added, "Don't ask. Just make sure Steve doesn't come after us, will ya?"

"Oh, his girlfriend keeps him on a tight leash, so to speak," Johnnie reassured. "Well, goodbye, you guys."

"Have fun," Timmy told her. "Come on, Patrick, I'll race you back home."

PAIR THREE: THE BANDLEADER AND THE MAESTRO

It was early in the morning, and Matt sat in the den, his guitar in hand. "You know what I could use right now?" he remarked to Danny. "A big, tall glass of orange juice."

Before Matt could get up from the couch, Patrick was at his side, offering him a cup of what he had asked for. This amazed Matt because he hadn't even noticed his bandmate come down from the bedroom. He almost expected Patrick to kneel as he passed the cup to his bandleader, and perhaps even poison test it. "Thanks, Patrick."

"You're welcome."

"What are you doing up so early?" Matt wondered. 

Patrick, who was still in his pajamas, shrugged. "I don't know. I just felt like getting up."

"Well, that's okay, cause I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to Concordia early this afternoon. Look at what songs they got there and see if there's any we want to add to our lineup."

"Okay," Patrick agreed.

"I think I'll go see if Timmy wants to go to the park while you two are doing that," Danny said, and climbed the stairs.

"So what time would you like to leave?" Matt asked.

"Whenever you want to," Patrick replied.

"Would you like to eat lunch out today?"

"Sure."

"I'm just figuring we might as well since we'll be out downtown," Matt remarked. "Where would you like to go?"

"I don't know. Wherever you want to."

"I was also thinking of stopping by my sister's house."

"If you want."

"Then again, maybe not today."

"That's fine, too," Patrick said.

Danny came back downstairs. "Timmy says he wants to go the park."

"You want to spend some time in the park after we visit Concordia?" Matt asked Patrick.

"I don't mind if you don't."

"Oh, Patrick!" Matt cried in frustration.

His bandmate was bewildered. "What?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing." Matt decided to see just how hard Patrick was trying to obey him. "Now, I want you ready in five minutes. Snap to it!" 

"Okay." Patrick scurried up the stairs. 

Concordia was uncrowded that afternoon. Matt and Patrick examined the new instruments with a window shopper's curiosity, then went to the stacks of transcriptions.

"I like this one," Patrick remarked, picking up a copy of the Valentines' number "April Love".

"Too romantic," Matt passed off.

"Okay," Patrick said meekly, and put it back.

"Patrick, I think you're trying too hard to please me," Matt warned.

"What do you mean? You're my bandleader."

"I may be your bandleader, but I don't demand your submission. Look, Patrick, the three of you elected me to guide you--"

"Without you, we'd be lost."

"I'm honored, really. But all I see as being my duty is to guide you, not to reign over you."

"That's good."

Matt sighed. "But don't you see what I'm trying to say? I want you to think of me as a friend--"

Patrick glanced at him, confused. "I know we're friends."

"That's good. But after that, you think of us on a master-servant level--"

"I don't think you're a slave driver, Matt."

"I'm not trying to be. But I've always thought of us as partners of a sort. I may be the Bandleader, but you're the Maestro. Now don't be so quick to drop that song if you really like it."

Patrick shrugged. "I just like the sound of it. It sounds really cool. I know the lyrics aren't our sort."

"Let me look at them again," Matt said, and Patrick found the sheet music and handed it to him. Matt glanced over the words.

"April love can be so bizarre

When your eyes start seeing stars

You can't think straight and say dumb things

You can't tell whether to cry or sing

But I want April love in my life

And I want her to be my wife

My friends are trying to make us part

And that's about to break my heart"

"Quite uncelibate," Matt remarked.

"Yeah, that part about being a wife," Patrick agreed.

"Still, it's just a song. We don't have to mean every single thing we sing."

"I don't really like the last two lines, though," Patrick admitted.

"Yeah, it could be seen as anti-friendship."

"We could do the song instrumentally," Patrick suggested.

Matt shrugged, raised his eyebrows, and nodded. "Yeah, we could do that. Well, let's buy it anyway."

They left the store, Matt carrying their purchase, and went to Lake Francis Park to meet up with Timmy and Danny. Suddenly, Matt stopped, and sitting upon a park bench, grabbed the sheet music and pulled a pen out of his pocket. He scribbled down words quickly. "We don't have to do it instrumentally," he explained when he was through, and handed the transcription to Patrick, who was standing behind the bench.

"I can't read your writing," Patrick said.

"Oh, sorry," Matt apologized, standing up and joining Patrick. "I wrote it too fast."

What Matt had done was changed the last verse, so that the lyrics read like this:

"April love can be so bizarre

When your eyes start seeing stars

You can't think straight and say dumb things

You can't tell whether to cry or sing

Don't want April love in my life

Because it causes too much strife

I let down my friends, for a start

And that's about to break my heart"

"It's a little less romantic, a little more pro-friendship," Matt related. "Even though he let down his friends, at least he's sorry for it."

"Yeah, and he may make up with them," Patrick pointed out.

"And ditch the girl, too," Matt added with an evil laugh. 

"It's more like what we would sing. Still, is it right to change their lyrics?"

Matt sighed. "Oh, you worry too much. Live performers improvise all the time. Even those who originally did the song do it a bit differently in concert. Besides, we're just a small time local band. The Valentines probably won't even hear our version."

"I guess you're right," Patrick said.

"So you wanna do it that way?" Matt asked.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Matt wanted to ascertain Patrick wasn't still bowing in acquiescence. "Do you really want to do it that way?"

Patrick looked puzzled. "Sure, Matt. Why, don't you like it?"

"Okay, Patrick, I just wanted to make sure."

That evening, tucked away in the music storage room, Matt and Patrick labored upon the guitar arrangement for the Four Innocents' version of "April Love". Matt often asked Patrick what he thought and what his ideas were, so that his docile bandmate would get in his say. Matt knew that when it came to music, Patrick had many good ideas that needed to be brought into the open.

After working out a new arrangement that was to the satisfaction of both of them, they went out to the bandstand, and brought in Timmy and Danny. "Man, that is one groovy bass riff," Timmy remarked upon hearing Patrick demonstrate it.

"So far, it's better than the Valentines' version," Danny chimed in.

"Patrick came up with that bit himself," Matt told them. "He's a brilliant musician."

"Aw, Matt, thanks!" Patrick cried, blushing. "But I'm not called brilliant that often."

"When it comes to music, you're a genius," Matt insisted. "Like I told you, I may be the Bandleader, but you're the Maestro."

"Oh, come on!" 

"No, I mean it."

"Yeah, you are great, Patrick," Timmy said.

"Matt's not as bad as he's making himself out to be, but you are good," Danny chimed in.

"Well, let's get down to business," Matt said, and Timmy and Danny took their places with their instruments.

The next day, Matt had some chores to accomplish. "Oh, I don't feel like doing the housework," he grumbled to Danny, then left to fetch the morning paper and a few groceries.

When he came back, much of the furniture was shiny and spotless. Matt saw Danny out in the backyard, sunning himself. He went upstairs to check the other rooms, and saw that Timmy was sound asleep. He finally caught Patrick coming out of his studio, cleaning fluid in his hands.

"Patrick, you didn't do all the cleaning, did ya?" he asked as he followed him down the stairs.

"Sure. Why, did you want to do it?" Patrick put the cleaning supplies away under the sink. "I heard you say you didn't feel like it."

"Yeah, but I thought I made it clear to you yesterday that my wish didn't have to be your command."

"I know, Matt. I'm the Maestro and you're the Bandleader."

"Yeah, and we're on equal footing, so you know, you don't have to be acting like my servant."

"I know. I like to think of us as side-by-side friends like you do. But you're also my bandleader." Before Matt could say anything, Patrick held up a silencing hand. "And I like to think of you as such. And I like to do things for you."

"You know you don't have to."

"I know."

"Well, in that case, Patrick," Matt began, rubbing his friend's hair affectionately. "Thanks."

PAIR FOUR: PARTNERS IN CRIME

During the time that Matt and Patrick had gone on strictly guitar business to Concordia, Danny and Timmy had walked off to Lake Francis Park. "We have fun here, don't we, my Partner in Crime?" Danny remarked, remembering the pranks and mystery good deeds they had played on innocent and not-so-innocent park visitors.

"Yeah, right, Danny," Timmy replied, sounding less than enthused. "You're not planning anything this time, are you?"

"Planning? Not now." His friend sighed in relief, but then Danny added. "The fun of these things is being spontaneous."

They walked along the sidewalks of Lake Francis Park, Danny on the lookout for bait. Soon his eyes alighted upon a girl. She was raven haired and blue eyed, and her hair was done up in one thick, long braid. She sat on the park bench nearest the ice cream stand, glancing impatiently at her watch every few seconds, becoming more and more flustered. "I wonder what she's waiting for," Danny said. "Or who." 

"Oh no," Timmy moaned, knowing the wheels of Danny's mind were already spinning, trying to think up some mischief.

"Go and ask her what she's waiting for."

"Me? You go ask her."

Danny pulled him along. "Come on." 

The girl looked up at them. "Uh, excuse me, miss, what are you waiting for?" Timmy asked nervously. "Or who?"

"My blind date was supposed to be here a half hour ago," she replied. "My friend said to meet him at the park bench next to the ice cream stand."

"He got held up in traffic," Danny explained, looking at Timmy. "Well, this is it, mate. Better late than never, right, Tim?"

"So you're my blind date?" the girl asked.

"No, he is," Timmy told her, jerking a thumb in Danny's direction.

"He's chicken. He is," Danny insisted.

"No, you are."

She looked at them, her eyebrow cocked and a smirk upon her face. "I guess I'll just have to go with the winner."

Danny played along with her new game. "Can I buy you an ice cream cone?"

The girl then looked at Timmy, challenge in her eyes. "Uh, can I buy you a...triple scoop ice cream cone?" he countered.

"Who are you two?" she asked with a laugh. "You can't both be my dates."

"It is not for you to know who we are, I'm afraid," Danny replied enigmatically.

"Hey, there's Ace," Timmy pointed out, as the landlord's nephew walked up.

"You must be Stephanie," Ace said. "I'm sorry I'm late but I got held up in traffic." He looked over at Timmy and Danny. "What are you two doing here?"

"Who are these fellas, 'Ace'?" Stephanie asked.

"Oh, that redhead guy's Timmy, and the little leprechaun is Danny," Ace told her. "They're sissies."

"Hey, Steph, you don't mean to tell me you're Ace's blind date?" Danny asked.

"Yes, she is, and she's quite a good looking chick," Ace observed. "Thank goodness." He took her hand and led her away. "Come on, let's go take a ride on my motorcycle."

"Ooh!" she cried. "A motorcycle! But do you think that maybe we could take a walk around the park first?"

Ace shrugged. "All right."

Timmy and Danny sat down on the vacated park bench and watched them go. "I wouldn't trust any girl relative or friend of mine with Ace," Danny remarked. "All he likes to do is devirginize fair young maidens."

"Poor Stephanie," Timmy mourned. "Unless she's very good, today's her last day of innocence."

"Yeah, she'll wake up in the morning and hate herself," Danny continued. "But, hey, it's still early in the afternoon."

"I think Ace would get bent anytime and anyplace."

"You're right!" Danny exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Timmy, we've got to save her."

"I think you have a great figure," Ace was telling Stephanie as they made their way around the park. Then Danny bounded up. "What are you doing back, shrimp?" Ace demanded, he and his date coming to a stop.

Danny knelt on the sidewalk, holding Stephanie's hand. "Stephanie, fair love," he began. 

"Your hair is black as the velvet night

Your eyes sparkle like sun on the sea

You are such a beautiful sight

Now wouldn't you rather go with me?"

She giggled and blushed. "He's just a troubadour," Ace warned her. "He doesn't mean anything he says. Come on." He hustled her away.

"I like troubadours," Danny heard her insist.

Ace and Stephanie continued on their way, but a couple of minutes later were again interrupted, this time by Timmy. He had a bashful grin on his face as he handed Stephanie a bunch of freshly picked wildflowers. "I couldn't get roses," he said.

"What's with you two today?" Ace demanded.

"Oh, how sweet!" Stephanie cried, giving Timmy a peck on the cheek, and then walking away with her date. "Come on, Ace, you think they're celibate?"

Danny and Timmy regrouped. "We've got to distract her before she rides off with Ace," Danny said. "If she does, we'll never catch up with them."

They found and ran up to Ace and Stephanie. Ace was exasperated. "Will you two just blow? Can't you see she wants to be with me?"

"Stephanie, you have to come with us," Danny insisted.

"Why?" she asked innocently.

"Because that bloke you're with is an indecent fornicator who only wants to get you in bed, and then he'll dump you the next morning."

She slapped Danny's face. "Shame on you! Talking that way in public!" She again walked off with Ace, this time in a huff, leaving Timmy standing in shock and Danny standing in pain as well as shock.

"How could you let him talk that way about you?" Stephanie wondered.

"If you hadn't been around, I might have knocked some sense into them," Ace replied.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't do that, but still, what they're saying isn't true, is it?"

He took Timmy's bouquet of wildflowers and tossed them aside, then slipped his arm around Stephanie's waist. "I won't use you then ditch you the next day."

"Oh, good."

"But I can show you a good time," he told her, turning her around to face him.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, and he drew her in to kiss her.

Timmy and Danny sunned themselves on the grass by the lake. "Well, we tried," Danny said.

"Oh, maybe she'll say no."

"Yeah, I'm sure she can take care of herself."

"Maybe from now on we should just mind our own business."

The afternoon sun tranquilized them, and they drifted off into a pleasant catnap. Then each of them felt as if a girl had reached over them, and kissed them on the forehead. It must have been real, for shortly afterwards, they regained full consciousness and discovered that both of them had shared the same experience. They looked around, but saw only ducks, children, and tame looking mothers.

They left the immediate area of the lake, Timmy remarking, "I like the feeling of the sun on me while I sleep."

"And that kiss didn't feel bad either," Danny added.

"Danny!" Timmy chided, embarrassed and also jealous over his friend's attention.

"Hey, whoever she was, she kissed you, too," Danny reminded him.

"Yeah, you're right, it didn't feel bad."

"I wonder who it was," Danny said. "Maybe--" He shrugged and left it hanging.

They approached the ice cream stand and saw Stephanie sitting on her old bench. She sighted them, blushed, and tried to escape.

They ran after her, Timmy grabbing her from behind and pulling her off the ground. She cried out in undisguised delight and giggled.

"What happened to Ace?" Timmy asked after he had placed her back down.

"Oh, he started talking dirty, and I hate it when people talk dirty, especially in public," she explained. "That's why I slapped you, Danny. I thought you were only joking, like you were joking when you said you were my blind dates. Only with Ace, if it was a joke I didn't think it was funny, and I thought you were telling mean lies, too. But then I realized you were telling the truth."

"So what you do?" Danny wondered.

"Well, I slapped him. And then he even had the gall to tell me it wasn't traffic that held him up this morning, if you know what I mean."

"He had another girl," Danny said knowingly.

"So we succeeded then," Timmy mentioned aside to Danny.

"No, she decided on her own to dump Ace."

Stephanie was listening in. "It doesn't matter! I want to thank you for trying to warn me anyway."

"Did you kiss us?" Timmy questioned.

She turned rosy. "Yes."

"Why'd you do that?" Danny asked.

"I thought it was something you two jokers would do."

Danny and Timmy laughed in appreciation, then the latter pointed into the distance. "Look, here come Patrick and Matt back from Concordia."

Stephanie gazed at their approaching bandmates. "Don't tell me there's two more of you!"

"There's two more of us," Timmy told her. "Those are our bandmates."

"But don't worry, they're not Partners in Crime, like us," Danny clarified.

"Oh, too bad. Well, I'll leave you fellas to get back to your band practice or whatever it is you're going to be doing. Will I see you again?"

"No, the two of us never date the same woman more than once," Timmy answered.

"Well, you never know, keep coming back to the park," Danny suggested. "But watch your back, cause you'll never know when we're gonna strike."

PAIR FIVE: THE GUILT TRIPPERS

Timmy cruised down the highway, looking at the birds and the flowers, the cars and the billboards. He liked all of them. He was sailing along happily, a favorite surfing and cars song on the radio helping to breeze the van down the road. Nearing home, he came to a quiet intersection with a stop sign, saw no cars as he slowed down, and so he continued on. Then he mentally slapped himself on the forehead. _Timmy, you didn't come to a complete stop!_ he chided himself. A cop could pull you over if he wanted. No other moving vehicles, nonetheless police cars, were in sight, so Timmy arrived home debt free. He didn't feel peaceful about it.

Walking inside, he only momentarily interrupted a conversation between Matt and Danny. "Matt, don't worry about it, we can't hit every audition anyway," Danny continued to his bandleader after greeting Timmy.

"Oh, I know, I know," Matt consented.

"What makes you think we would've gotten it even if we did show up?" Danny asked.

"Well, yeah, I suppose it's silly for me to think we held it in our hands. Still, we can't be lazy." Matt noticed Timmy flop down on the psychiatrist couch. "Hey, Timmy, what's up?"

"I ran a stop sign," Timmy stated somberly.

"Did you get pulled over?" Danny wondered.

"No."

"Then so what?"

"It's illegal!" Timmy pointed out, looking over at his two bandmates.

"I know, but we all make mistakes."

"Do you think I should turn myself in?" 

"Turn yourself in!" Matt exclaimed. "Timmy, you feel guilty about the silliest things."

"You do, too, Matt," Danny reminded him. "You two are always scourging yourselves over something. You know, in England, we have what we call day trippers, but I think you two are guilt trippers."

"You're right, I mentally kick myself, too," Matt agreed. "Perhaps therefore I am qualified to help Timmy cause I've been there." He turned back to his drummer. "Timmy, you try so hard to be good, you don't need to place yourself on all these guilt trips. Other people try to see all they can get away with, and don't seem to feel half as guilty."

"But I still ran--" Timmy began.

"Well, don't do it again!" Matt advised him.

"All right," Timmy agreed. Glad that the matter was settled, he sat up. "Where's Patrick?"

"Oh, he's up in his studio," Danny replied, and Timmy thanked him and left. As soon as he was gone, Danny sighed and banged his head against Matt's shoulder. "What are we going to do with him? We ought to sentence him guilty of being guilty."

"Yeah, he can be ridiculous about it at times," Matt remarked. "But I love him for it. At least he tries."

That evening, while Danny and Patrick stayed home to hand out Halloween treats, Matt and Timmy paid a Reformation Day dinner visit to Jim and Caroline Frayne. Jim's uncle and aunt from Santa Fe, Warren and Greer Loring, were also visiting. Warren sat retired behind a newspaper most of the time, but Greer, a portly, wrinkled woman with yellowed red hair, dominated a conversation between her nephew and his wife.

Timmy, bored, followed Matt into his niece's room. Jaymee squealed when she saw them. "Hi," Matt greeted affectionately. "It's your Uncle Matt and your Uncle Timmy."

They played with her awhile, not noticing the lull in conversation out in the den. Greer, on her way to the kitchen to help Caroline prepare the food, peered into the bedroom. "Well, I suppose it's good to see young men take such an interest in toddlers," she remarked aloud. "Just don't go spreading any of your youth culture ideas into her head."

The two bandmates looked up curiously.

"Well, at least it'll prepare you for fatherhood," Greer concluded.

"Oh no," Timmy had to remark, not liking parenting for him being talked about even hypothetically. "A father? Not me."

"What's wrong with him?" Greer asked Matt.

"Oh, we're just not interested in having children," Matt explained, but even he was made nervous by the tough vibrations this woman exuded. "At least not yet," he added in a mutter, hoping she would be pacified.

"Well, someday you'll be," she said, walking into the room and picking up Jaymee. "Her daddy can watch her now. Why don't you two boys help us in the kitchen?"

"Uh, because we don't--" Timmy began to joke, but a glare from Greer silenced him. "I was just kidding."

Jaymee was placed in the den with Jim and Warren, and the two women of the house and the two boys congregated in the kitchen. Matt and Timmy cut up vegetables and meat. When the dishes were ready for the table, Greer asked Timmy to help move them. 

"Be careful, that's hot," Caroline warned, seeing Timmy, without potholders or gloves, about to pick up a bowl of steaming vegetables. 

He reacted to her statement too late, and quickly removed his burning fingers from the sides of the bowl. "Damn!" he swore in automatic reaction.

"What did you say?" Greer demanded.

"Huh?" Timmy asked without a clue.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, young man. I think you owe everybody here an apology."

"What for?"

"Now don't be playing wise with me. I don't like foul mouthed teens."

"But I haven't--Matt?" Timmy searched his bandleader for help.

"Now take it easy, Aunt Greer," Matt placated. "Timmy's not foul mouthed. It's just that when he burned himself, he cried out without thinking."

"Without thinking is right."

"Oh, so that's what she's talking about," Timmy realized. "Well, I'm sorry then." He often was sickened by people's excessive use of profanity, and so didn't mind apologizing for his mild use of it. Well, didn't mind too much.

"You should be sorry," Greer said, not seeming to accept the apology she had wanted. "You have to learn to watch that mouth of yours. Especially around Jaymee."

"But she's in the other room!" Timmy pointed out.

After dinner, Timmy felt sleepy and with Jim's permission, lay on the spouses' bed. He was just about to fall into serene sleep when Greer startled him awake. "Aren't you going to help with the dishes?" Again, she didn't expect an honest answer, only the one she wanted to hear.

At this point, the call of dreamland had become too seductive. "I'm tired," he told her.

"That's no excuse."

He yawned. "I'm really tired."

"Come on."

"Go away." He rolled over to turn his back to her.

She left the room in a huff, and Timmy was left alone to sleep, but he knew he was in trouble now. Worried and tired, he kept falling asleep and waking back up. He could hear low, rumbling conversation in the other rooms; he knew it concerned him.

One voice entered the bedroom. "Just who do you think you are, talking to Aunt Greer that way?" It was Caroline.

Timmy looked back at her. "Talking that way to her? Didn't you notice the way she was talking to me?"

Caroline sighed. "You could have just helped with the dishes, you know." Receiving no answer, she added, "I don't particularly care for you being in our bedroom anyway."

"Jim said I could take a nap in here."

"Well, I wish he wouldn't be like that." She gave up and left.

Timmy felt he knew what her problem really was. She couldn't have been so ignorant as to not notice Aunt Greer's rough ways. Matt had pointed out that sometimes people took a relative's side as opposed to an acquaintance's side just because they felt obligated to do so, and who was right or wrong didn't matter. Timmy tended to agree with him, and that made him feel better until he realized that, although they were like brothers, Matt might not automatically take his friend's side if he believed him to be in the wrong.

By this time, Matt had heard all about the conflict, first from Aunt Greer, and now from Caroline. "You should've let me talk to him first," he told his sister. "I know how to handle him." The two women looked at him, repulsed at his connection with the lazy punk in the other room. "I'll go check on him now," he said hurriedly.

"I think he owes us all an apology, Matt," Caroline remarked.

"Not for the first time today," Aunt Greer recalled.

"Whatever," Matt said with a sigh. He felt that the demanding woman had received what she had deserved. Knowing Timmy, he was probably racked with guilt.

He entered the bedroom. Timmy was lying stomach down, holding his head up in his hands. Matt closed the door. "Timmy..."

"I suppose you're gonna tell me what a jerk I am, too."

"I know you're not. That lady's given herself a wrong impression of you, and she's driving you to become exactly what she thinks you are." Matt sat down on the edge of the bed. "I know how you try to do what's right. Who else would worry about turning themselves in for running a stop sign?"

"I probably would've been glad to help out in the kitchen if she hadn't volunteered me," Timmy ranted. "I don't like being volunteered by somebody else. Especially someone I don't even know."

"I understand. Back in Trotter, sometimes Maw or Paw used to tell people, 'Oh, Matt will be glad to do it for you', and I was like, 'What did you say?' And then I did whatever tasks they had in mind, although rather grudgingly. But I find I do like to offer to help people out on my own."

"I know I shouldn't have told her to go away, but--"

"She pushed you too far. I know." As though he believed Aunt Greer might be at the door, Matt leaned over and whispered, "To tell you the truth, I think she's a witch." They both smiled wickedly, then returned to their conscientious selves. "But it is our duty as Christians to be nice to her and not to hold a grudge."

Timmy took a deep breath. "I know. And I'm gonna have to apologize just to keep the peace between your relatives and our band. It makes me sick. I'm tired of being good. You realize what an inconvenience I am to myself? So many things I would have liked to have done--I don't mean sex, I think I'd still be celibate, but just dragging myself to school when I felt ill but not ill enough, telling the truth about things when a lie could've saved me a confrontation...And then other people still think they need to keep me in check."

"Timmy, you are too hard on yourself, but don't be tired of being good," Matt pleaded. "I'd hate to see you change."

Soon, they exited the shelter of the bedroom, and entered the territory of the fearsome Aunt Greer. "Well, does Timmy have something he'd like to tell us?" she wondered smugly. Caroline stood by, her arms crossed.

"I have something I'd like to tell you, Aunt Greer," Matt began. "I think you're a--" Timmy nudged him with an elbow. "Never mind, I forgot what I was going to say."

"I'm sorry, everybody," Timmy said. "It's just that I was half asleep, and when I'm half asleep, I'm cranky and not fully conscious of what I'm saying." He shuddered at having had to debase himself in front of Aunt Greer; his flesh crawled.

"Well, try to be a bit more aware," Greer chided.

"We better be going now anyway," Matt announced. Before leaving, he drew Caroline aside. "Sis, don't defend her just because she's your aunt. She could use some reprimanding herself."

"Oh, I know," Caroline replied with a sigh.

Once the two bandmates were outside, and walking home, Matt asked in disappointment, "Aw, why'd you stop me from telling her what she was?"

Timmy shrugged. "We must be good."

PAIR SIX: THE FIRST SHADOWS

Timmy wouldn't budge, but Danny had managed to drag Patrick out of bed, and now the two were walking the streets of downtown. "I like browsing through the stores here on St. Francis Park Avenue," Danny remarked. "Even if it is only window shopping."

"We need new windows?" Patrick wondered.

Danny raised an eyebrow. "No, no..." They walked into a general store. Danny stopped suddenly, pointing at a young blond girl. "I've seen her somewhere before. Do you recognize her, Patrick?"

His companion squinted. "I think so. I think she went to our school."

Danny snapped his fingers in recognition just as the girl in question approached them. "Caprice!"

"Danny!" she returned, and nodded in acknowledgement at his friend. "Patrick."

"Caprice," Danny said to Patrick. "She's the one that..."

"I'm the one that tagged along on a date you two had together," she finished.

"You're not still sore about that, are you?" Danny wondered anxiously.

She smiled, waving the notion aside. "Actually, you know, I'm not," she answered, and laughed. "It made me realize something important about commitment, and what true love is."

"It did?"

"What did it teach you?" Patrick wondered.

"Well, shortly after that time, I had a boyfriend who was bugging me about 'proving' my love to him, if you know what I mean."

"What's she mean?" Patrick asked Danny.

"Sin," Danny replied simply.

Patrick blushed. "Oh."

Caprice continued her story. "But I realized that love doesn't have anything to do with the desire between a boy and a girl."

"We taught you that?" Danny asked. "I mean, I can dig it, but I don't know how we ended up teaching you that."

She shrugged. "You just did. You two were always real together--"

Danny put an arm around Patrick, squeezing him. "We still are."

"I'm glad to see it. Remember how back in high school, they used to call the two of you the Shadows?"

"Oh, yeah!" Danny cried. "I almost forgot about that. We could never figure out who was the shadow to who, though, remember, Patrick?"

His friend nodded, smiling.

Danny turned back to Caprice. "See, depending on the sun, sometimes one's shadow is a lot shorter..." He held his hand up to the top of his head. "...And other times a lot taller." He reached his hand up towards Patrick's head.

Later that morning, Danny and Patrick went to the Marshall Ranch to go horseback riding. "The Shadows," Danny said, astride his mare. "I'm glad she remembered that. See, I've been trying to come up with names for all our pairs. I call you and Timmy the Watchdog Pups, and you and Matt, well Matt said he's the bandleader, and you're the maestro. So Bandleader and Maestro there. Me and Matt are Selwynward, after our last names, and Timmy and I have always been Partners in Crime. And Timmy and Matt, I call them the Guilt Trippers, since they always seem to be going off on some guilt or mental trip. Trips that aren't really necessary."

"I don't know if Shadows fits anymore, though," Patrick pointed out. "All of the pairs you mentioned, well, we're all like shadows."

"That's true. That's probably why I almost forgot that we used to be called that, now that each of us has three shadows. But we were the first ones--we'll be the First Shadows."

"That's okay," Patrick remarked.

"I've also noticed that our relationships go around in a circle," Danny said. "And that, although it overlaps some, each of us has a bandmate we look up to, a bandmate we look after, and one we have a side by side relationship with."

"What do you mean by that?" Patrick observed that his horse was trailing behind Danny’s, so he didn’t think they had a side by side relationship!

"Well, see, Timmy looks after you, and he looks up to Matt, who looks after him."

"Well, I look up to Timmy. But Matt's our bandleader. I also look up to him."

"That's why I said it overlaps some. Now Timmy and I are partners, so we have the side by side relationship."

"Who do you look after?" Patrick wondered.

"Matt. Even though he's our bandleader, he feels very vulnerable, and he needs someone to realize that."

"Who do you look up to?" 

"Well, you."

"Me?"

"Well, you're the only one left."

"Why would you look up to me? I'm not very bright."

"Oh, yes you are. Maybe not academically--"

"--But musically and artistically," Patrick answered knowingly.

"Well, that too. But you've got a lot of wisdom about things like friendship and what really matters."

"But I still don't see why you would look up to me. I'm, you know, not like a leader type or someone you would look up to."

"I know. You're gentle and soft-spoken. But in a way..." Danny swallowed hard.

"In a way what?"

"You have a quiet authority. Over me, at least. You see...Remember that night before we met Matt, when you were asking me to stay in America even after our school year was over? And I said no, I had to go back to England."

"I was being too possessive," Patrick confessed in shame.

"No, you weren't. You told me that I could do what I wanted to with my life, remember? And I went back to the Marshalls and I thought about things, and I realized you had a powerful hold on me."

"See? I said I was too possessive."

"No no no. Let me rephrase that. My love for you had a powerful hold on me." He sniffed, his open sentimentality causing him to choke up. He chuckled nervously. "This is getting embarrassing."

"It's okay," Patrick told him.

"You cut right through my defenses like that, I guess that's what I'm trying to say."

Patrick knew Danny had bared his soul to him, and needed now to not feel so vulnerable. "Hey, you know," he said casually. "You ought to tell Matt and Timmy about all the different names for us pairs, and how they go in circles and side by side, and all that."

Danny laughed, feeling relieved. "Hey, yeah, they ought to find that fun." 

"So let me get this straight," Patrick said. "I look up to Timmy, who looks up to Matt, who looks up to you, who looks up to me." He smiled in triumph. "And that's the circle."

"You've got it."

"And backwards, it's who looks after who."

"Right again, mate. And side by side are the ones who aren't directly connected in the looking up to or after cycle. I ought to make a graph of this to show them."

"Well, if I understood it, they should be able to, too."

"Maybe." Danny turned his horse around. "Well, let's get back to the stables so we can get home."

"Yeah, and all six pairs of the four of us can be together," Patrick agreed.


	2. Lawless Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is based on The Monkees episode "Monkees on the Line" by Gerald Gardner, Dee Caruso, and Coslough Johnson.

LAWLESS TOWN

I

NAME: Doreen Latimer

DOB: 9/9/37

EYES: Hazel

HAIR: Brown

HEIGHT: 5'6''

WEIGHT: 140 lbs.

PAST CREDITS: _Way Out West_ , _Lawless Town_...

Doreen stared uninterestedly at her headshots, one great, big smile on her face--on the photos, that is. "Yeah, right," she said aloud.

She turned one over to its blank side and took a felt tip pen out of her purse. "Life is meaningless even when you're a wealthy Hollywood actress," she inscribed. "Maybe **especially** when you're that. Your dreams may come true, but after that, your mood is the same as ever." She read over her note, and then, with dark humor, added a salutation: "All my best, Doreen Latimer XOXO."

She put the photo back into the box of headshots, and left it on her agent's desk. Then she took the elevator up to the roof of the twelve story office building.

A black-haired teenage boy dressed in jeans in a denim jacket sat beside the door leading to the stairway. He appeared lost in thought. Doreen paid little attention to him and paced around the lengths of the roof. Every so often, she would stop and look down...and down and down. She wanted to die, yet she still feared hurting herself. 

"It'll be over before you know it," she whispered to herself. She went to one side of the building, and saw the cafe at ground level. People were merrily whiling away their time there. She walked to the adjoining edge. Down below was a parking lot, currently vacant of people. She took a step closer to the edge and let out a short shriek. The wind was blowing so hard it felt as if it would pull her over even if she did not decide to go herself. She stumbled back, away from the edge. Someone grabbed her arm and dragged her to the center of the roof.

It was the teenage boy. "Don't get too close to the edges, ma'am. It's dangerous, and you're making me nervous."

"Don't you think I know it's dangerous?" she shouted, sobbing.

"Well, yeah, I'm sure you knew perfectly well when you went near there. Let me tell you, I was just thinking about it myself, and I changed my mind. Right now I was just about to go down to the parking lot--by way of elevator, that is."

"What was **your** reason for wanting to jump?" Doreen wondered.

"Oh, I've been feeling down all this week. See, I'm the leader of a band, and I handle finances and finding gigs, all that stuff, and lately we've had no luck."

"Well, I hear it's hard to break into the music business. You can't put the blame on yourself for the way it's always been. Besides, you can't leave your band leaderless."

"I know. Thanks. If I hadn't already changed my mind, you would've just talked me out of it." He opened the door to the stairway and gestured for her to go inside, asking, "Will you allow me to talk you out of it?"

She shrugged and smiled faintly. "Sure."

As she and he walked down the stairs, he questioned, "What's your name, ma'am?"

"Doreen Latimer."

"Doreen Latimer...Say, ain't you been in something before? Movies and stuff?"

"I've been in many things. But I've always been kinda low profile. Who are you?"

"Oh, me? I'm just Matt Winward."

"I'm not a miserable person," Matt revealed, as the two sat in the outdoor cafeteria, sipping sodas. "And my friends and I have many happy times together. It's just that this week, oh, well, I guess I've just been fed up with myself for not being able to lead them to success."

"I've been blue for a few months now," Doreen confessed.

"I've been down for long periods of time too, in the past."

"I'm worried, though," she said. "I hear some people never get out of their blue funks."

"Do you think that's what you're suffering from--chronic depression?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's probably just problems I've been having recently--"

"Well, most problems don't last forever."

"Yeah, I just don't see any way out right now." She gazed at Matt intently. "I bet you could help me solve my problems."

Matt shrugged. "Maybe I'll be able to shed some light on them. I'm not making any promises, though. I may be no help at all." He then leaned forward, waiting to hear her confessions.

She blushed. "I'm not ready to tell them straight off. I need to know you better."

Matt ordinarily would have been frightened away by her subtle aggressiveness, but in the same way Danny couldn't resist helping a girl in trouble, Matt couldn't resist helping a troubled girl. "Well, to get to know me, you have to get to know my friends as well. So you wanna come over to our house?"

That afternoon, Matt walked into the beachhouse, Doreen following at his heels. "Fellas, I'm home!" he called.

"Did we get the gig?" a British voice called out.

"No, we didn't get it," Matt replied, as his three friends came downstairs. "Fellas, I'd like you to meet Doreen. Doreen, this is Danny, Timmy, and Patrick."

"Say, Matt, this isn't Doreen Latimer, is it?" Timmy asked.

"Mary Lou From _Lawless Town_?" Patrick added.

"Yes, I am," Doreen answered.

"What are you doing here?" Danny wondered.

"She was interested in meeting you," Matt explained.

"Well, we're certainly interested in meeting you," Timmy remarked.

"Would you like a snack or anything?" Matt asked his new lady friend.

"No thanks, the soda was enough."

"But why did you want to meet us?" Danny asked. "And, Matt, how'd you two get acquainted?"

Matt began to answer, but Doreen interrupted him. "He saved my life."

"Oh, I really didn't do that much."

She pretended to take it the wrong way. "Are you saying my life isn't worth doing much for?"

"Oh no--but all I did was pull you back from the edge. It's not great, heroic feat."

"But it accomplished its purpose."

Timmy was amazed. "You--you were trying to--to..."

"Kill myself. That's right."

Matt's three friends surrounded her, pleading for her to take a new look at life. "I just may do that," she told them.

II

"Well, I can't say your house is much, but you backyard is certainly breathtaking." Doreen walked side by side with Matt along the beach. She felt like holding his hand in this romantic setting, but instinct warned her against it. Besides, she reminded herself, he's so young!

A gull landed at the edge of the sea and walked about in the wet sand. "Look at that bird," Matt pointed out.

"A sea gull, yeah," Doreen said, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

"No, I mean, study that sea gull," Matt rephrased. "Don't just let all these little things pass you by." The gull flapped his wings and took off. Matt watched his ascent into the sky. "When you watch a bird from that close, you feel like you're flying with him."

"What you're saying, basically, is 'take time to look at the flowers'."

"Well, yeah, all though there's no need to be so trite about it. But you can get so much more out of life by finding these pleasures in simple things."

Doreen pointed at a cloud. "That cloud looks like an old boot."

Matt followed her gaze. "Yeah, you're right, it does. Or maybe even Italy." He leaned back on one of the beach rocks, and Doreen followed suit. "What do you think of that one? It looks like a man wearing a top hat."

"Yeah. That's what I see, too. That one over there looks like a walrus."

They observed the clouds for a quarter of an hour. Doreen wanted to kiss him, but again, instinct warned her not to try it.

As Doreen watched TV that night, alone in her luxury apartment, she was distracted from the episodes, thinking about Matt and the events of the day. Maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to have flirted openly with him; after all, when he bid her good night at her doorway, he had kissed her on the forehead.

The chimes rang. "No, not Perry," she groaned. "Not tonight." She heaved herself up from the couch and turned off the television.

It was indeed her _Lawless Town_ co-star Perry West who stood in the hall, dressed in his finest designer suit. "I told the wife I was discussing a top secret project," he joked, walking in without Doreen's permission.

She closed the door resignedly. When she passed by Perry on her way back to the couch, he grabbed her and kissed her passionately, on her neck, on her cheeks, and on her lips.

He stopped when he realized that she wasn't about to start kissing him back. "What's wrong, baby?"

She pulled away. "Perry, I'm just not in the mood tonight."

He shook her shoulders forcefully. "Why? Is there someone new?"

"No!" she cried indignantly, again withdrawing from his grasp. She sat down on the couch. "Hell of a question for a guy who's cheating on his wife to ask."

"Come on, baby, after all I did to get here tonight, and you don't have anything for me?"

"I wish you would've called ahead."

Pointing an accusing finger, he reminded, "You told me I could drop in anytime."

She sat in silence for a moment, then said, "Well, from now on, let's re-arrange it so you do call ahead. I've had a lot of things on my mind, and some nights, I'm just not in the mood for any company." She sighed. "Well, make yourself at home."

He dropped down next to her and took of his shoes and his jacket. They started kissing, with Doreen seeming reluctant at first, but then gaining momentum. This time, however, Perry drew away.

"Now what's wrong?" Doreen demanded.

He put on his shoes angrily. "You're thinking of someone else. Don't try and deny it; I can tell." He stood up and put his jacket back on.

As he marched towards the door, Doreen didn't deny it. "You're right, Perry, you're losing your appeal."

When he had gone, Doreen turned the set back on, relieved that she hadn't had to fake making love.

III

"We're glad you could join us, Dory," Danny said, as Matt opened the van's passenger door for her. Danny, Timmy, and Patrick were sitting on the back, Danny on the floor. Matt climbed into the driver's seat.

"Where are we going?" Doreen asked.

"Where do you want to go?" Matt offered. "We're open."

"Name some places you go."

The Four Innocents all listed suggestions, and Doreen decided, "Horseback riding sounds fun."

"Marshall Ranch it is," Matt announced, and drove to the stables.

As they rode on horseback, the Four Innocents sang silly songs, and Doreen laughed, even joining in on one number she knew. Afterwards, they romped over to the park, where Matt cajoled Doreen to join him and his friends on the playground. "I feel silly," Doreen remarked, as Matt pushed her on the swing. His bandmates rode on the other swings.

"Silly's okay," Timmy said.

"Yeah, why limit yourself to grown up things?" Patrick added.

"But **teenagers** don't usually play on jungle gyms," Doreen pointed out.

"Well, we do," Matt said simply.

Doreen was still in a happy mood from the good clean fun she had had that day when she lay down on her couch to read. A while later the chimes rang.

It was Perry West, holding his hands behind his back. "Perry, I thought we agreed you'd call ahead."

"I wanted to surprise you," he told her, holding forth offerings of chocolates and roses.

She was taken aback. "Oh, well, um, thank you, Perry. Uh, why don't you come in?"

"Now that's more like it." He lay the gifts on the kitchen counter. "But that's not all." From out of his pocket, he retrieved a jewelry box. Inside were a pair of diamond earrings.

"Oh, Perry!" she gasped. "You shouldn't have."

"This is the second night in a row I'm seeing you--I really have to go to some lengths to do this, you realize."

"Oh, I know."

"I'm sorry I was snappish the other night," he apologized. "Why don't you say we make it up tonight?"

The phone startled Matt awake. Looking around in the dim morning light, he found that Danny was leaned against his right side, Timmy's head was on his left shoulder, and Patrick was resting against Timmy's side. The late show had been boring. Matt squeezed out from between his friends. Danny slumped sideways onto Timmy. Matt shut off the television and answered the phone.

"Oh, thank goodness, Matt!" cried Doreen's voice. "I thought you'd never answer."

"What is it, Doreen?" Matt asked in concern, sensing angst in her expression.

"I'm gonna try to kill myself again!" she sobbed.

"No, Doreen, don't, please. Look, will you wait until I get over before you try anything?"

That was what she had wanted to hear. "Yes, I'll wait. But hurry up."

"Okay. Goodbye." He turned to his friends, who were looking at him. "I've gotta--"

"--Go over Doreen's place," Danny completed. "We know. Take care."

IV

"It just seems a shame that after all I've learned about good, clean fun and simple pleasures, and after you guys and I had such a great time yesterday, that I go and ruin it all by sleeping with that married man again."

Matt listened, in sympathy, and in shock at the same time. _Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised,_ he told himself. _Not every nice girl is necessarily a good girl, too._

"I let him bribe me with all the cliché gifts--flowers, candy, jewelry. I don't know if I have any respect for myself anymore. I'm sure you don't now that you know what kind of a woman I really am. I mean, wholesome Mary Lou Peterson is just a character."

Matt wasn't sure if he did respect her or not yet, but he wasn't about to turn his back on her. "Well, at least I know what's really bothering you now. It isn't chronic depression or being burnt out. It's that you know this affair is wrong, yet you won't cut if off."

"I **can't** cut it off, Matt."

"Don't give me that. You know you have to--not only because it's the right thing to do, and it's the right thing to do for poor Mrs. West, but because you need to do it for yourself."

She sighed. "You're right. But I'm scared. He's coming over again tomorrow night at seven." She wringed her hands, then rested her head in them. "Oh, what am I gonna do? What do I tell him? He has a temper, you know."

Matt shrugged, wanting to be of assistance, but not having the answers either.

Suddenly, Doreen perked up. "Matt, can you be here then? Not in the same room, I mean, but just here, so I feel more secure."

When Matt returned home, he found his bandmates watching reruns. "Hey, Matt, guess what?" Danny asked.

"Last season's episodes of _Lawless Town_?" Matt wondered.

"No, it's _The Adventures of Jack David_ actually, but Doreen Latimer's in this episode."

Matt seated himself on the armed couch and joined the program already in progress. Doreen was playing a sweet and modest school teacher whom Jack David and Paco were protecting from an aggressive would-be lover. "Isn't her _Lawless Town_ character now a school teacher, too?"

"Yeah, I think this was a predecessor character," Danny said.

"I used to have a crush on Mary Lou Peterson," Timmy admitted.

"Purity is becoming to her," Matt remarked.

Matt returned to the Latimer apartment late the next afternoon. "Hide in here," Dory told him.

"In your bedroom?"

"If you're here, at least, I won't give in to him and go off to bed," she explained. "I'm not the kind who will do it anywhere, especially with someone else hanging around." She walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle. "Would you like a drink while we wait?"

"No, thanks. I'm underage anyway."

"Well, I'm overage. And I need to calm my nerves." She poured the liquid into a shot glass and downed it like she was swallowing vitamins.

When the doorbell rang, Matt shut himself in the bedroom. Doreen let Perry in. "Well, are you ready to dine--" he began.

"Treat your wife," Doreen suggested. "You owe it to her."

Perry was stunned silent for a moment, registering the meaning of what he had just heard. "There is someone else, isn't there?" he demanded finally. "I knew there was. First you were just thinking of someone else a couple of days ago, and when you kissed me then, you were kissing him in your mind. And last night, you were fantasizing about someone else--only I didn't want to say anything, because we were supposed to be making up!"

"You have to make up to your wife! Now, I know I'm not the one who should preach, because I'm just as guilty as you, but someone needs to call a stop to all this."

"What's wrong with you? You get converted or something?"

"I don't know about that, but that's all I have to say." She shut the door in his face, and locked it just in case. He rapped loudly on the door and demanded that she let him in, but after a few futile minutes, he gave up and stomped down the hallway, grumbling and swearing all the way.

She went in to Matt. "That was great!" he told her, giving her a congratulatory embrace. She held him tight and cried. It felt wonderful in his arms; she felt that she would do anything he asked. Perry had been right about her thinking about someone else, and now she was free to love him.

"Well, I guess I better be heading back to the fellas now," that someone else announced.

"No, Matt, don't go!" she pleaded.

"Well, I can stay a little while longer if you need me to."

"Yes, please stay."

He patted her on the shoulder. "It'll be all right, Doreen. He's gone now. And if he gives you any trouble, tell me. Come on, lets go watch TV or something... What's the matter, don't you feel like watching TV?"

She shook her head. "No," she said quietly. 

He was beginning to realize what was going on in her mind, and felt uneasy. "Well, what do you want to do? Go out somewhere?"

She sat down on the bed. "No, Matthew, I--"

"You want to go from one moral fiasco straight into another?"

She stood up. "There's a difference, Matt! You're not married. There's no wife to hurt."

"Having an affair with an unmarried man is just as wrong as having an affair with a married man."

"Well, what's that leave me with?"

"Spouses. Spouses are allowed."

"And how do spouses get to the point of being married? By romancing each other."

"Yeah, sure, that's okay, but I thought you were talking about, you know, the act." He turned to exit the bedroom.

She quickly placed herself in front of the door. "I was!"

"I really have to get home to my friends."

"Call them. Tell them you'll be late. There's a phone in here."

"Let me out, please."

"Don't you understand, Matt? You're the one who made me fall in love with you."

"I'm sorry. I was only trying to help." He forced his way past her. "I'm sorry."

She followed at his heels. "What are you afraid of? That you won't know what you're doing cause you're not experienced?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "Cause if that's it, don't worry. I know you'll catch on. Besides, I'm patient."

He was sickened by all this, and became impersonal as he turned to her. "Look, lady, given the choice, I'd prefer a new car to a used one."

" **That** was uncalled for!" she seethed.

He shook his head. "You're right. I shouldn't have said that. But I still don't wanna go to bed, I wanna go home."

"Fine. Take me to your place."

"You can come if you want, but I'll put you up in the guest room while I bunk with the fellas." He had his hand on the doorknob.

"I'd just as rather stay here," Doreen grumbled resignedly.

"That's more like it." He sighed. "Please, Doreen, you're not acting in a way that's becoming to you. I'll call you later."

Matt walked down the hallway, shaking his head. It was a shame how that woman offered herself to be used.

Perry West appeared at the end of the hall. "Excuse me, boy, what are you doing coming from Miss Latimer's apartment?"

"Uh, I'm her nephew," Matt lied hastily.

"Can't be. She's an only child. If she has no brothers and sisters, she's got no nephews or nieces."

"Oh." He should have stuck to honesty. "Look, I'm just a friend of hers."

"Kinda young, aren't you?"

"Yeah, exactly. I'm just a **friend**."

"I'm not so sure about that. I know she ditched me for some new lover."

"Look, I left shortly after you. Even if I were her lover, that doesn't leave any time for that kind of stuff."

"Yeah, but who knows how long you were in there before me."

"Look, sir, honestly nothing happened in the way of kissing or further than that. I'm not her lover."

"Uh-huh," Perry grunted cynically. "Boy, have you been hearing the news reports lately about deliquents staying out after curfew? Well, I figure the public needs protection from them."

"But, sir, I'm not a deliquent. And I'm just driving home. That's all."

"Hell, I know you can't trust a long-hair. As I was about to say, I figure I'm doing a public service by keeping you off the street." A crack from Perry's fist sent Matt reeling into the wall. He slid down to the floor.

"Man, that was too easy!" Perry pouted, leaving the dazed Matt behind as he headed for the elevator.

V

Matt found himself lying on Doreen's couch, looking up into her eyes. She kneeled over him and pressed a cold washcloth against his jaw. "See, you should've stayed with me," she gloated.

"Oh, the hell I should've. You were trying to seduce me."

"You would've had a much more pleasant time of it than getting knocked silly."

"Yeah, what if I wanted to kill myself in the morning?" Her eyes flashed and she drew away. "I'm sorry. That was a harsh way to get the point across."

"But you did," she sighed. "I see what you mean. You're right, you can't do something you feel is wrong. Would you like me to phone your friends and tell them what happened?"

"Yes, I would. Thank you very much. I'm out past curfew, you know, and I'm too dazed to drive anyway."

"Well, you can stay on my couch; I promise I won't touch you." She straightened up. "After curfew? Are you **that** young?"

"Seventeen, ma'am."

"Now I really know I shouldn't have tried anything with you."

"Fooling around with a minor," Matt teased. "That could get you in a heap of trouble."

Doreen blushed and put on her Mary Lou drawl. "I guess it's that you're just so manly, I must've figured you for an older gentleman."

Doreen went to sleep alone that night, but dreamed that she hadn't, and then regretted coercing the boy who had saved her life into doing something against his principles. When she awoke and remembered what had really happened last night, she was grateful that Matt had been stubborn.

She put on her robe and walked into the living room. Matt was dozing on the couch. She kneeled by him, and he began to stir. "Good morning. Feeling better, kiddo?"

"I'll know after I really wake up," he replied. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Fine. Thanks for everything."

"Huh? I didn't give you anything."

"I didn't feel like a whore this morning. I can gain my respectability back. That's what you've given me." She kissed him on the forehead. "I won't go further than that unless you want me to."

"Save it for someone special."

" **You** are special, kid, but I know what you mean. And at least I know you haven't helped me just to get at my body. You know, I realized last night you didn't get hit for leaving when I wanted you to stay; you got hurt in the line of trying to help me." She went over to the kitchenette and opened a cabinet. "Would you like to stay for breakfast?"

"Sure. I can manage that."

After breakfast, Matt was ready to leave. "Call me if you need anything," he told Doreen.

"All right, I will. But I think I'm gonna be all right now."

She smiled. "Say, Matt, when exactly do you turn eighteen?"

"Now you stop that!" he chided. "I don't plan on losing my religion in that amount of time."

"No, it wouldn't be becoming to you," she agreed. “And don’t forget—you can call me if you need anything, too.”

Matt smiled, winked, and exited the apartment.


	3. A Simple Christmas

A SIMPLE CHRISTMAS

“Good morning!” called out an old lady as Matt and Danny passed her. They were out for an early walk. 

After returning the greeting, Danny grinned, swinging himself on his friend’s arm. “Christmas is in the air.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “I almost expected to see snow when I walked out the door. In fact, I’m still seeing it out of the corner of my eye—but when I turn, it’s gone.”

“Vivid imagination,” Danny remarked with a chuckle. “Have you ever seen snow—real snow? Are we gonna get a tree? Put up lights? ”  
Matt sighed and his steps became heavier. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you and the fellas about that…”

Danny regretted having spoke. “It’s okay, Matt, if we don’t go all out. Sometimes simpler is better.”

A meeting was called as soon as Timmy and Patrick had finished brunch. They sat before Matt, their eyes bright. “We can’t afford the strain on the electrical bill, so no lights,” Matt announced. “However, maybe we can go driving around looking at other people’s lights once or twice or whenever.”

Timmy and Patrick looked disappointed, but nodded understandingly.

“We got about thirty dollars to spend on gifts. A tree may take a large dent out of that. Does anyone know where we could get a tree, if necessary?”

Timmy raised his hand. "I've lived in this area all my life,” he began cheerfully.

"Yeah?" Danny asked curiously, wondering what this was leading to.

"And every year my parents would buy a tree from the same guy. Nice old man. Name's Foster. We'd go there and while we were looking for a tree my parents and him would talk, and he'd invite me inside his trailer and give me milk and cookies."

"Yeah?" Danny asked again.

"So you know, he's really an old friend of the so-called Rowe family. He might be willing to give us a bargain. And Foster really liked me," Timmy added. "If we're on our

best behavior like good little boys, he might even give us one for free."

"Well, it would be nice to have a tree," Matt agreed. "Tell you what‑‑We can go down there and check things out but I can't promise anything."

Old Foster had his trees sorted out in rows on a vacant lot next to a shopping center. The Four Innocents sauntered up. "Hi, Foster," Timmy greeted cheerfully. "Remember me?"

Foster, a chubby, slow‑spoken man, dressed in winter coat and hat, looked like Santa without a beard. He peered out at Timmy through his glasses. "Ain't you been comin' here the last few years?"

"Yeah, I've been coming here for many years. I'm little Timmy Rowe, don't you remember?"

"Little Timmy Rowe..." Foster began, knowing the name.

"Well, yeah, I'm big Timmy Rowe now."

"I ain't seen Timmy Rowe for the past few years. I seen his folks though. They weren't here last year though."

"Oh, they moved. I stayed here though, to be with my friends. I told you about them last year." Timmy gestured at them. Seeing that Foster still looked confused, Timmy asked again, "Don't you remember me?"

"YOU'RE Timmy Rowe?" Foster recognized finally. "The little boy I used to feed milk and cookies?"

"Yeah, uh, didn't you realize it was me when I came here the last few years?"

"I thought you was a girl."

"Uh, you, er, what?"

"And these are your friends?"

"Yeah."

"What are they?"

"They're boys, too."

“What you been doin' these past few years, Timmy? You got a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

“What about trees?” Matt asked. “What you got?”

Foster pointed at the trees.

“I mean, like in price.”

"Oh, I was gonna say, you long‑hairs always want everything for free. My cheapest tree's over there. It's ten dollars."

"Ten dollars?" Timmy demanded.

"Look, boy, I don't run a charity here. All my trees are top quality. You want cheap trees, go to George's down a block away. 'Course, they won't be as good quality. Better off as firewood." 

"Right, guess we better go to George's then," Matt said.

"See ya next year, I guess," Timmy told Foster. "If we have money then. By the way, do you have any more milk and cookies?...Just kidding."

"Ain't you gettin' too old for milk and cookies?" Foster asked.

"I keep telling him that," Danny said wryly.

"Hey, you're never too old for milk and cookies," Matt told Danny as they walked away.

“Or kids’ cereals,” Timmy added thoughtfully. “They’re so much sweeter.”

At George's lot, large advertisement boards had attracted a large mob of people. The ads claimed that George had the cheapest trees in the city, perhaps even in the whole nation. Perhaps even in the whole world.

"This looks like a good one," Matt remarked, grabbing a puny tree at the edge of the lot.

"Yeah, you better take the first one you can get," Danny said. "This place is packed."

"Man, you're telling me!" Timmy exclaimed.

A gruff looking man smoking a cigar walked up. “Sorry, that one’s sold.”

“Well, maybe not that tree,” Matt said, not wanting to get into an argument. The man was probably George anyway. He turned to another one. “How ‘bout—” A little, wiry man scurried up and grabbed it.

“This place is crazy!” Matt was about to usher his bandmates away when he saw Patrick leaning down. “What is it, Pat?”

Patrick grinned and held up a fallen Christmas tree branch. “We could use this.”

“Hey, yeah!” Matt realized. “It’s got enough needles on it.”

“We can put it in that empty planter Timmy’s mom gave us,” Danny said.

All eyes turned to Timmy. “Shouldn’t we ask the proprietor if--?”

“Oh, Timmy!” everyone cried in exasperation.

“It’s a branch that fell off,” Matt stated. “It’s not something that’d be put up for sale.”

Timmy looked lost in thought for a moment. “Oh, okay!” he agreed finally.

“Yea!” cheered the others.

They stood it upright in a planter full of dirt. They managed to put two red ball ornaments on it, and on top, they tied a star that Patrick had made out of construction paper.

“We saved money on the tree,” Matt said. They were sitting on the floor, around the branch. “But we really need the rest of our money for the rent.”

“Well, there’s cheap trinkets at the five and dime,” Timmy pointed out. “Stuff that’s less than a dollar. Surely _that_ won’t hurt.”

Danny stood up, trembling with excitement. “We can be creative, like we were with the Christmas branch—we don’t have to give gifts to each other—we can do services for each other. Like, I don’t know, shovel off the sidewalk.”

“Um, we don’t have any snow,” Matt pointed out sheepishly.

“Just an example!” Danny cried. “It can be fun! Really!”

“Yeah!” Timmy and Patrick chorused in.

Matt still looked timid—even looked like he was blushing, Danny noticed. “Oh, okay, let’s get in touch with our creative side,” their bandleader said finally.

“Yea!” everyone cheered.

“Should be easy for us, being musicians,” Matt commented as an afterthought.

Danny awoke. The room was dark, but brightening. It seemed, well, mystical. Danny remembered what today was. _Oh,_ he thought, sitting up. _No wonder there’s magic afoot._

He nudged Matt. “Hey, let’s go watch the sunrise.”

“Danny, the sun doesn’t rise over the west coast,” Matt mumbled.

“So? We stand with our backs to the water, that’s all.”

“Okay, okay.” Still, Matt did not sound enthused.

Danny tapped him on the shoulder before he could drift back to sleep. Matt looked up, actually bothering to make eye contact this time. “Yeah?”

“Merry Christmas, Matt.”

“Merry—Oh, Merry Christmas!” Matt returned, now fully alert. “Let’s go watch that sunset—I mean, sunrise. Should we wake Timmy and Patrick?”

“Let them sleep a little longer. C’mon, get dressed and we’ll be on our way.”

When they returned, they found Timmy and Patrick still asleep. “They’ll snooze the whole holiday away if something’s not done,” Danny remarked.

“Well, go wake them.”

“With pleasure.” Danny stared at Timmy a second before pouncing on him. “Wake up, Timmy!”

“Aaahh!” yelled Timmy. “What’s going—Oh, it’s just you!” he realized, seeing the smirk on Danny’s face.

“I’m trying to sleep,” mumbled Patrick.

“No time for sleep, Patrick,” Danny announced, shoving his friend.

“Why not?”  
“It’s Christmas. Merry Christmas, Patrick! Merry Christmas, Timmy!”

Smiles came to their faces, and they returned the greeting.

“Get dressed and Danny and I will get breakfast ready,” Matt said.

Matt and Danny cooked up a special meal—instead of cold cereal, each of the boys had custom cooked eggs. There was no ham or bacon, but there was toast.

While Timmy and Patrick were busy cleaning the dishes, Matt looked down at the Christmas branch. “C’mon, fellas, you can finish that later.” He got up from the breakfast table and sat down by the holiday branch. His three bandmates promptly joined him. “Okay, um, how do we do this?” Matt asked, mostly to himself. “Uh—I know—Patrick, get the trumpet out of the storage room.”

“Sure,” Patrick readily agreed, though he looked confused. He sprinted into the other room, and came back a few seconds later.

“Play us some fanfare,” Matt ordered.

“Like what?”  
“Oh, you know,” Matt began, and hummed a few notes. Patrick put the trumpet to his lips and blew the same exact notes.

“Yea!” Danny and Timmy cheered from their seat in front of the decorated branch.

“That’ll do, good sir,” Matt said, with put on airs worthy of one of Timmy’s imitations. Patrick sat down by the others.

“Danny, you’re the one who came up with the idea, so you first,” Matt announced.

“Um, okay,” Danny agreed, standing up. “I agree to cancel my next three dates, and instead, spend some one-on-one time with each of you.”

“Me first!” Patrick called.

“Me second!” Timmy chimed in.

“Aw, man!” Matt whined.

“Don’t worry, Matt,” Danny consoled. “I’ll save the best for last.”

“Won’t your girlfriends be uptight?” Timmy wondered.

Danny pushed the notion aside. “I’ll just reschedule later.”

“Okay, Patrick, your turn,” Matt said.

Patrick blushed. “Um, okay, yeah—I will play each of you a solo. On the instrument of your choice.”

“Me first!” Danny called out.

“Me second!” Timmy rang in.

“Now cut that out!” Matt cried. “Timmy?”

“What?”

“Your service…?”  
Timmy also blushed. “Well, mine is like Patrick’s, but…”

“You’re gonna play each of us a drum solo on the kitchen object of our choice,” Danny teased. Patrick shoved him.

“No, mine is..another kind of performance. I will reenact for each of you a fave or least fave scene from a movie or TV show complete with voice and costume changes, where merited.”

“Me first!” Matt spoke up.

“What scene do you want?” Timmy asked.

Matt went blank.

“You think about it,” Timmy advised. “And in the meantime, tell us your service.”

“Okay. I hereby release each of you from one assigned chore this week. I’ll do it instead.”

“I don’t want to do the windows,” Patrick brought up.

“Fine.”

“I don’t want to do weight lifting this week,” Timmy announced.

“Now how can I do your own weight lifting for you?”  
“I don’t want to lift weights.” Timmy pouted.

“Oh, fine then.”

It was a little while until Christmas dinner at Miss Keefe’s, so the Four Innocents lay in the den, their heads touching. In a circle, they looked rather like a snowflake.

“Okay,” Danny began. “Name your favorite childhood Christmas memory.”

Everyone was silent.

“Well, you first, Danny,” Matt suggested. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“All right,” Danny agreed. “I like the Christmas that Lord Sheehan hid presents all along his estate gardens, one for every child in the village.”

“What, he think it was an Easter egg hunt?” Timmy wondered.

“No—”

Timmy had another question. “He did it for all the children? Not just for his fellow rich ones?”

“Lord Sheehan never paid much mind to class barriers. What about you, Timmy?”

“I think we’re all equal under God.”

“No! I meant about a childhood memory.”

Timmy feigned ignorance. “Oh!…Well, actually the only thing I can remember is I wanted this set of fifty mini-plates—they each featured one of the states and were a premium for some soda or cereal or something. And my Dad got me all fifty, and he individually wrapped each one. That’s not a great memory—“

“Why?” Danny demanded.

“Well, because it’s about getting material possessions—not about love or joy or peace.”

“Well, neither was my story.”

Matt broke in. “There’s more to your story than that, Timmy. Your father must have spent a lot of time and energy wrapping each plate for you. It just goes to show—”

“—That he loves you,” Patrick finished.

“Hey, yeah!” Timmy cried in happy realization. He sobered. “Well, then, anyway.”

“Knock it off, Timmy!” Danny scolded.

“We’ll talk about it later, if you want,” Matt told him. “Do you still have the collection? I’ve never seen it.”

“I have no idea where it disappeared to.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Matt said, “I guess I better get around to my story. It’s a rather odd one, actually—somewhere between childhood and adolescence. It’s when my big sister took me aside and explained to me all the adult secrets of the holiday.”

“You don’t mean--?” Timmy began.

“Exactly. But she was so nice about it. Took me into her confidence. Made me feel like a big man. Took all the brunt out of what could have been big time disillusionment. Your turn, Patrick.”

“Mmm, ‘bout all I can think of was one of the first Christmases I can remember. I was real small. But it was the first Christmas I can remember where Jazz—I mean, Mom—was happy. Because she always used to be real sad all the time.”

“That reminds me—we gotta be heading over to her house in a little while,” Danny reminded everybody, sitting up.

Matt checked his watch. “There’s still time.” They were all seated on the floor now.

“So, what now?” Danny asked.

“Let’s not forget the real reason why we’re celebrating,” Timmy fretted, full of religious guilt.

“Timmy, no one’s going to forget that,” Danny assured him tiredly, playfully slapping his friend’s chin.

“We’re too old to celebrate Santa bringing us toys,” Matt pointed out.

“And there’s no snow about, so we can’t celebrate snowmen and sleigh rides,” Danny added. “Well, actually, we _can_ , since everyone else around here seems to anyway, but it really doesn’t make any sense.”

“About two thousand years ago, Jesus died for us,” Patrick said solemnly. “When we die, we don’t have to worry about never seeing our bandmates again. We will rest in His care ‘til we are all reunited.”

“Patrick, that’s beautiful!” Danny cried in awe.

“Patrick, I love you,” Timmy said in a helplessly childlike voice, throwing his arms around the bass player.

“I know, Timmy, I know,” Patrick told him in that soothing but odd father-like tone the naïve boy sometimes took on.

“Calm down, Timmy,” Danny advised, tongue-in-cheek. “He’s only just given us a recitation of the promise of eternal life and happiness.”

“Yeah!” Matt chipped in. “Nothing to get excited about.”

Timmy sat back down. “Do you really think we’ll all be together in Heaven?”

“Of course!” Danny answered. “It is Heaven, isn’t it? Not Hell.”

“Danny said a bad word,” Patrick taunted, only half-serious.

“It’s just that..well, there’s no marriage in Heaven,” Timmy brought up. “So there might not be pairing up of any kind.”

“Well, that’s to save heartache on widows or widowers who marry again. They won’t have to choose between spouse one and two,” Danny explained.

“I always kinda thought maybe the wife lives with husband number one for one century, then husband number two the next,” Matt guessed. “They wouldn’t be called married, though. It’d be more like they’re the best of friends—like us.”

“Yeah, like I’m best friends with, say, Danny,” Timmy stated. “But I’m not jealous of your being best friends with Patrick, or with Matt. So husband one won’t be jealous of husband two.”

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s sex in Heaven,” Matt said thoughtfully.

“No, they’re all celibate, like us!” Danny declared.

“Besides, there’s no marriage in Heaven,” Timmy pointed out. “And sex outside of marriage…”

“Yeah, but maybe they do have what the hippies call ‘free love’ up there,” Matt argued gently. “Only it’s completely moral, and it really is love, not lust.”

“I still prefer the idea of everyone discovering the joys of celibacy,” Danny said. “Anyway, Timmy, back to your original worry—I know we’ll all be together.”

“‘In my Father’s house are many mansions,’” Patrick quoted.

“And there’ll be a mansion for the four of us,” Danny opined.

“I kinda imagine it’ll be just like this,” Matt said, looking around at the beachhouse. “Just spruced up a bit.”

“And we won’t have to pay rent.”

Patrick glanced at his watch. “ _Now_ it’s almost time to be over at my Mom’s.”

When they pulled up by Miss Keefe’s house, they had to park in the side of the road. There were already cars in the driveway. “Hey, I thought we were gonna be the only ones here,” Danny declared.

“It’s not like Mom to be a people person,” Patrick admitted.

“Hey, that looks like Amity’s car,” Timmy pointed out.

“That other car’s real nice,” Matt said. “One of them Serpiente sports cars.”

“Why would it be in Mom’s driveway?”

“Let’s go find out,” Matt decided, and the four of them walked to the door.

Miss Keefe’s voice rang out shortly after their knock. “That’ll be the boys—can you go get it?”

“So she _does_ have someone over,” Patrick stated obviously.

The door opened. It was Amity Boone who greeted them. Francene was leaning over the dinner table. “Hi, fellas.”

The quartet walked in. “What are you two doing here?” Danny wondered.

“Whose fancy car is that out front?” Matt inquired.

From out of the kitchen came Monica Wellington, a bowl of broccoli in her hands. Her hair was pinned back, but a sweaty lock had escaped and hung down on her forehead. Patrick couldn’t help it—he grinned a big, goofy grin. Monica blushed and smiled back. “I bet you thought a rich girl like me didn’t know how to cook.”

Miss Keefe came out of the kitchen shortly, to place a bowl of stuffing upon the table. She kissed Patrick on the cheek.

“Okay, what’s going on here?” Matt asked his bandmate’s mother.

“I decided to have a few more guests over, that’s all.”

“She’s not trying to set us up, Matt,” Danny reassured. “There’s not enough girls for all of us.”

“Have a seat,” Miss Keefe said, talking as she went back in the kitchen to fetch a plate of turkey.

“Yeah, kick back,” Francene encouraged.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Amity chimed in, placing down the mashed potatoes.

“After all, you’ll be cleaning up,” Francene told them.

“Cleaning up? Us?” Danny, seated, asked in mock indignation. “And what will you be doing?”

“Watching sporting events,” Francene replied smugly.

“We knew you’d want to be doing something,” Miss Keefe said. “Something in return.”

“We thought of everything in advance,” Monica announced gleefully.

“What do you mean, in return?” Matt inquired.

“For your gifts. The gifts that were the girls’ ideas,” Patrick’s mother answered. “Amity, go get the boxes.”

Amity left the room and came back, juggling four small boxes in her hands. They toppled on to the table in front of the Four Innocents. Amity quickly rearranged them so that the correct box was in front of each corresponding Innocent.

“Oh, what’s this?” Danny asked.

“I think it’s lipstick and a carrying case,” offered Timmy.

“No, it’s the keys to four Serpientes exactly like the one out front,” Matt joked.

“Well, I’m opening mine,” Patrick announced impatiently. He started to unwrap the box, and the others followed suit.

What they found meant a lot to them. Inside each box was a silver locket—thinner than most girls’ lockets, these were shaped like dogtags and hardly seemed much thicker than them. Inscribed on the front of each was an individual Innocents’ name. Inside was a touched up photo of that Innocent’s three friends.

“Oh, so that’s why you were taking all those photos of us!” Matt exclaimed.

“Yeah, the duo and the solo ones I could see, but I couldn’t figure out why you wanted to take trio photos,” Danny said.

“Actually, the duo and all the other photos were just to keep our cover,” Amity explained. “I took the photos, and Francene touched them up. Monica custom ordered the lockets.”

“Whose idea was this?” Danny wondered. “I didn’t even know all of you knew each other.”

Amity and Francene looked at Monica. “She had the idea.”

“I wanted to get you something special as a group, and I didn’t know who to ask about it, so I took a chance and met with your neighbors.”

“And she hit the jackpot with us,” Francene broke in. “We knew what to do. The trick was convincing you to pose for all those pix.”

“We found out you were having dinner over Miss Keefe’s house,” Amity continued. “You blabbed it during the photo session. So we decided to get her in on the deal, too.”

“And all you have to do is clean up,” Miss Keefe said. “That’ll be your gift to us.”

Matt’s three bandmates looked at him. He smiled sheepishly. “Oh, okay, thanks.” Then he, Patrick, and Timmy followed Danny’s lead and got up to hug the girls. The females helped them don their lockets for the first time. Then they all sat down to a nice turkey dinner.

That evening, in their nightclothes but still wearing their lockets, the four friends sat around the Christmas branch. Matt and Patrick cradled acoustic guitars, and they all sang carols and seasonal tunes.

“Well, I think it was a rather nice day,” Danny remarked, pleased with himself and everybody else.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed.

Timmy fingered his locket’s chain. “Where we gonna put these?”

“I’m wearing mine to bed,” Patrick stated.

“I’d like to, but I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Matt told him. “It might wear down and break.”

“I guess we could put them on the bureau—maybe get a box for them,” Danny suggested.

The others nodded.

Danny took off his chain. “But for tonight, I’m putting mine right here—under the Christmas branch.” 

His three bandmates smiled, and lay their lockets atop his. Then they climbed the stairs to go to bed. “It’s not quite midnight yet,” Danny pointed out.

“Yeah, it’s not time for you two to go to bed,” Matt said to the “Watchdog Pups”, Timmy and Patrick.

Danny grabbed his bandleader’s elbow. “I meant, let’s us stay up, too—There’s magic in the air and I don’t intend to miss a minute of it.”

As they clambered back down the stairs, Danny nudged Matt, “See, sometimes a simple Christmas is best of all.”


	4. Painting Cats and Dogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was inspired by The Monkees episode "Art, for Monkees' Sake" by Coslough Johnson.

PAINTING CATS AND DOGS

I

Di Pinto was a famous and revered artist of Renaissance Italy. It was he that was so good that he made his teacher look like a fool in comparison. Di Pinto ended up having to give his teacher lessons.

Di Pinto started out painting scenes from Greek and Roman

myths. His most famous of these beautiful and often sensuous works are _Venus in the Flesh_ , _Zeus Abducts Peasant Girl_ , and _Helen of Troy Unveiled_. The first two are on display in Paris, the last in Florence.

Di Pinto then underwent a period of spiritual examination, and started painting scenes from the Bible. His sensual styling

carried over into these more "moral" works: _Lifestyles of Sodom and Gomorrah_ , _Adam and Eve before the Fall_ , and _Bathsheba, She Bathes_. The first painting listed is in a manor hall in England, the second hangs in New York City, and the third is part of the small but valuable collection in Santa Virginia's privately owned art museum, the Hals Hall.

In between his mythological and Biblical works, Di Pinto

painted relatively boring portraits of local officials of his day. One of these, _Count Vile Metallo_ , also found its way to Hals Hall.

Santa Virginia was also home to fine artists of its own. Patrick Keefe, an unknown and mocked artist of nineteen‑sixties America, was one of them. Like Di Pinto, Keefe was also a religious man. Yet he did not paint scenes from the Bible, for it made him self‑conscious. He did not paint mythological scenes either, for he had no idea what the characters were supposed to look like. Choosing to stay away from the confusing world of politics, Keefe also never painted local officials, although he had sketched a few pop culture stars without their knowing it. Keefe's styling was also a far cry from Di Pinto's sensuality. Keefe, whose most important works included _The Sad Basset Hound_ , _Kitten Mewing_ , and _Puppies at Play_ , was too embarrassed to even paint the sex organs on his animal subjects.

Keefe was often seriously distracted from his art by the rival call of music, but currently, in his free time, had resumed expressing himself through sight as well as sound...

II

Patrick looked at the tambourine that was his model, then back at his canvas. He had gotten far in painting a life‑size recreation of it. He had gotten up early to start painting; he had done the initial sketches the night before. When Matt announced that it was time for their weekly shopping trip, the busy artist told his friends to go on without him. It was now late afternoon, and Patrick had not even taken a break for lunch. It was worth it; the painting looked like it was nearing completion.

Patrick heard his friends approaching the front door, so he

put his brush down on the table he had dragged out from his studio, and opened the door for his friends.

Timmy continued a conversation with Matt as they and Danny

walked in. "...Yeah, I know we have a copy of that album in the storage room if Mr. Baird's willing to pay the price for it." That in mind, he headed for the music storage room, passing by the painting on the way. He glanced back, a puzzled expression on his face. He reached towards the image of the tambourine, and found that his fingers touched merely a flat and wet surface. He gave out a low whistle. "Man! Patrick, did you do this?"

"Hey, Patrick!" Danny cried. "It's practically three dimensional! 

"Huh?" Patrick wondered.

"It looks so real," Danny clarified. "Except for those spots that came off on Timmy's fingers."

"You did all that in the time we were gone?" Matt asked.

Patrick shrugged modestly. "See, I'm painting the tambourine because I want to see if I can make my paintings look as real as a photograph, and the tambourine is a more simple subject than some of the other things I was thinking of."

"Well, I'm no art critic," Danny began. "But I'd certainly

say you could call your mission accomplished. Wouldn't you,

Timmy?"

"Right!" Timmy agreed in good nature, heading to the bathroom to wash off. 

Danny turned back to Patrick. "So, what are you gonna do, just repaint those spots, then you'll be done?"

"No, I still gotta do more detail on the shades of the wood." "It looks brown to me."

"But all the grains of wood‑‑it's different shades of brown." Danny shrugged. "Well, have fun."

Patrick touched up his work that night, and the next morning,

all four of the Innocents wondered where such an impressive painting should go. Matt received an idea while reading the newspaper's arts and entertainment section. Hals Hall had placed an advertisement in it announcing that, as always, Mr. Hals was taking a hand in developing the stature of Santa Virginia's own artists. Any aspiring painters, sculptors, and photographers were welcome to bring down examples of their work, and if approved, they could set up exhibits in Hals' annual art fair for local talent.

Matt pointed out the advertisement to Patrick, but the boy

objected shyly. "Aw, they won't like my work. They're only

interested in those really sophisticated guys dedicated to art. I mean, music's more my priority, being in a band‑‑"

"Patrick, you're good!" Matt insisted. "That painting you did the other day fooled us all! We thought it was a real tambourine. Look, why don't you bring that one down to show them? They're not gonna tell you that a painting looking that real isn't good enough."

"But it's just a tambourine‑‑!" Patrick pointed out, still scared.

"So? Are tambourines automatically disqualified or something? You should see some of the subjects that artists are choosing these days. You remember the photos we saw last year that were of nothing but chair legs?"

"Well..." Patrick hesitated.

Matt looked him in the eye. "C'mon, Patrick, your paintings are wonderful and they should be shared with the world‑‑or at

least, Santa Virginia."

"Well..." Patrick began again. "...Okay." Matt smiled. "Will you go with me?" the timid artist asked his bandleader.

III

The Four Innocents left the painting in the back of the psychedelic van, and walked into Hals Hall museum. They wandered around, wondering where to go. Finally, Danny spotted a girl carrying a portfolio. "I bet she knows something." She was a dark‑haired girl dressed in a light blue blouse, a navy blue mini‑skirt, and a beret of the same color which covered her flip hairdo. "Excuse me, miss," Danny said. "Patrick here is an artist and he was wondering about the art fair for locals."

"Oh, yes. I know all about that," the girl replied helpfully. "I was in it last year, and I'm entering this year, too." She took Patrick's hand, realizing how shy he was. "Come on, Patrick, I'll show you the meeting room. Oh, did you bring any examples of your work?"

"It's in the van," he replied.

"Better go get it. They need to see your work. Did you only bring one piece?"

Patrick nodded, and Timmy added, "Well, yeah, but it's a real groovy piece."

"Well, I guess it'll do for now. This isn't the last day to register. But a portfolio would be better. You can just bring copies of your work, instead of lugging them all down here."

"Oh, well, I guess I better come back another day then,"

Patrick said, glad for the excuse to leave. "Thanks." He turned to go, Danny and Timmy following suit.

Matt remained stationary. "Are you sure you want to leave?" "Well, yeah, I didn't bring a portfolio, and‑‑" He became

aware of something. The girl had not left yet, so he asked her, "How do you make a portfolio?"

"Gosh, you're a real amateur, aren't you? Listen, this museum has lots of facilities for artists, so why don't you come back here tomorrow morning at say, ten? I'll be here and I'll help you out. Bring plenty of examples of your best work."

"Are you sure it won't be any trouble?"

"Oh, no trouble. I love to hang out here anyway. By the way, my name is Lisa Monet."

"All right, Lisa," Matt said. "Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks," Patrick agreed.

Matt drove Patrick back to Hals Hall. They found Lisa, and she helped them unload the works, including the infamous _Tambourine_. "Oh, that's very realistic," she remarked, after a dozen times of trying to pull the tambourine out of the painting. "But, just curious, why that?" Patrick gave her the same explanation that he had given his friends. Matt then had to leave, and told Patrick to phone him when he needed a ride home.

In the studio, Lisa stacked up Patrick's other paintings and drawings on a table, but _Tambourine_ was laid against a wall. As the two were working, a couple of guards came in. One had a sour expression on his face. He stared at _Tambourine_ , muttering, "Must be those hippies. Just leave their instruments lying around anyplace." Like Lisa, he tried to pick it up off the floor, and realized it was a painting. He whistled a couple of complimentary oaths that Patrick tried to ignore. "Damn those artists!" was his summarizing exclamation.

The second guard watched this all with a keen eye. "Miss Monet, did you do this?" he asked finally.

"No, sir, this young artist here did. His name is Patrick

Keefe."

"Hello," Patrick greeted bashfully.

"That's an amazing painting," the guard praised. 

"Thank you," Patrick acknowledged, still quietly.

"Why, I dare say you're as good as Miss Monet here. Has Miss

Monet shown you any of her artwork yet?"

"No, not yet," Lisa answered herself. "But I'll get around to it."

"You know, the boss man has taken a lot of interest in your

work," he continued.

"Mr. Hals has?" Lisa asked curiously. "Well, what exactly

about them has he taken an interest in?"

"Why, I heard he was interested in commissioning some pieces

from you for the museum."

"What? But I'm not even an established artist!"

"No, but you're one of the best in town. See, Mr. Hals is

interested in devoting an entire new wing to the discovery of local talent. It's like his fair, but year round."

"Cool. I haven't heard about this before."

"Yeah. Well, cause we're the guards, we get all the beef

first. Well, come on, Arthur, we've gotta split."

After Lisa and Patrick had finished preparing the

portfolio, Lisa wondered, "Would you like a tour of the museum?

Your paintings will be safe here, with the guards."

Patrick shrugged. "Okay."

They explored the modern art room first. Patrick, not with insult intended, but bafflement, said he wasn't quite sure what it was all about. "I don't know what every work means either," Lisa confessed. "Sometimes you really have to be in on the artist's

stream of consciousness. But I don't have a closed mind towards it. Some of it I think is really groovy." She explained the

stories behind some of the pieces with which she was familiar,

having had them explained to her by Mr. Hals at an earlier time. They then entered the fine art room, with its paintings of

battlefields, still life, historical scenes, cityscapes, and, of course, myths, Bible stories, and stuffy officials. Patrick was embarrassed by some of the explicit ones, such as the one in which Greek heroes appeared to be falling out of their clothes. The last work Lisa introduced was a prime example of the overexposed painting, though a Biblical scene as opposed to one of mythology. "This is the pride of Mr. Hals' collection, his second Di Pinto painting‑‑the Count we just saw was the other. This is _Bathsheba, She Bathes_. Isn't it just outasite?"

"Oh, yes," Patrick agreed, it literally being out of sight to

him. He had turned away and was staring at the fully clothed _Count Vile Metallo_.

"You're not even looking!" Lisa snapped.

Her change in tone gave Patrick a start. "Hmmm? Oh, I saw it."

"Patrick, this is fine art, not pornography!" she insisted, sounding insulted. "Besides, Bathsheba is a biblical character." "But she's naked!"

"Well, that's how King David first saw her."

"And look what happened to him after that."

"Well, don't worry, I don't think you're going to commit

adultery with her and kill her husband. This is just a painting, and Bathsheba's been dead for hundreds of years, if she ever

existed, that is."

"She existed! Look, can we just go on to the next room?"

"Nudes embarrass you that much?" Lisa asked, sounding more

understanding than she had before. Patrick nodded. "Oh, okay

then. We can go back to the studio. There are no more exhibit

rooms‑‑at least, not until they add the local talent room. I hope to see you there‑‑in paint, that is."

When they got back to the studio, they ran into Tony, the friendlier guard. "Oh, can Patrick use the phone here?" Lisa asked. "He needs his friend to give him a ride home. I really have to go." 

"Sure," Tony said. "Come this way, kid."

"Bye, Patrick," Lisa told him, heading out. "Don't forget to

come back again to register for the fair."

"Okay. Bye." Patrick followed Tony into a back office.

Compared to the sophistication of the exhibit rooms, the office looked like a dump. A beach bunny calendar was the only artistic embellishment. _At least Miss January's better dressed than Bathsheba_ , Patrick thought. _Although from what I glimpsed, at least Bathsheba didn't know she was being watched._

"There's the phone," Tony said, pointing at the telephone on the desk. He then got an apple out of the freezer, and stood by munching on it while Patrick made his call.

"Hi, yeah, Matt? Yeah, I'm ready to leave. Okay, thanks.

Bye."

Before Patrick could leave to stand outside, Tony spoke up. "You know, kid, the boss man would be real interested in a boy that could paint as well as you do."

"Oh, really? For the new exhibit?"

"Sure. Probably. But he's also looking for an apprentice. You see, the boss man's not such a bad painter himself, and he's looking for just the right person to share his knowledge of art

with. But they can't start from scratch‑‑they already got to be good, so he can teach them to be the best. He's also considering Miss Monet for the position."

"Well, I wouldn't want to steal this chance from her."

Tony waved this notion aside. "Steal? Hey, it's gonna be

the boss' choice. I'm not sure Miss Monet will accept the position anyway. She's a bit headstrong about her art. And you know what the best thing about this is?"

"No."

"The boss, he ain't charging anything."

"Oh, you mean, free art lessons?"

"Exactly, kid."

"Oh, well, I‑‑"

"Don't feel pressured about it now, kid. I don't even know if he'll pick you yet, but I'm gonna tell him about your work. Oh, do you mind if I have that photocopy of the tambourine painting?"

"Oh, have the original," Patrick offered. "For now, at least."

"Sure, okay, kid." He laughed. "It'll be fun seeing if he tries to pick it up, too."

IV

While Patrick was standing in the registration line the next day, he felt a tap on the shoulder. It was Tony. "The boss man nearly crushed his fingers trying to get hold of that tambourine," he reported. "He loves it! He says it's a 'prime example of _trompe l’oeil_ ' or something like that. He wants to talk to both you and Miss Monet about the fine opportunity of becoming a fine art apprentice. You got time after you sign up to talk with him in his office?"

Patrick considered this. "Well, the fellas already know that I'm down here, and that I may be awhile, so okay." No harm done by checking the offer out.

When Patrick entered Mr. Hals' office, he discovered that Lisa was already sitting in one of the two seats in front of the desk. Hals' office was much nicer than that of the guards. The chairs were velvet cushioned, plush carpeting lined the floor, and limited edition prints and rare paintings hung on the polished, wood‑panelled walls.

Mr. Hals himself sat behind the mahogany desk, his hands resting in a clasped together position. He was a hoary‑headed man, with bushy eyebrows, and pale blue eyes. Like his office, he was sophisticated and elegant, impeccably dressed in an Italian suit. "Patrick Keefe, I presume?" The boy nodded. "Ah, do be seated, young man."

"You both already know why I invited you here," the owner

continued. "I am interested in finding an apprentice whose work will be featured in our local talent room."

"So you are planning a permanent exhibit of this sort?" Lisa asked.

"Well, yes, although the exact plans are indefinite at this

time. Returning to the original subject, the tuition is free.

Why, you ask?"

Patrick shrugged. He hadn't asked.

"You no doubt have heard the expression 'art for it's own sake'." Actually, Patrick had not. "Well, that is why I am

undertaking this endeavor‑‑for art's sake. I have been a student of art, a collector of art, and a curator of art. It has always been my wish to be a teacher of art as well. Not to be a teacher in a crowded classroom, however, but rather, to be a master and take on a singular apprentice. Imagine how one can polish and refine his or her skills, at a much quicker speed. One won't have to wait one's turn while the teacher takes his time with other students. That is my offer, Miss Monet and Mr. Keefe. Think it over, so that you may have an answer ready for me if you are the one I choose first. I expect to have arrived at a decision the day after the art fair."

The rest of January quickly passed by, and the band had the chance to play a couple of gigs. Even while performing, Patrick could not keep himself from dreading the upcoming art fair. Was he supposed to sit there while airy ladies and gentlemen criticized his beloved paintings?

Matt dashed his hopes of escape. "Come on, Patrick, you're not backing out now."

Saturday, February fourth, was the big day. Patrick's bandmates helped him pack up his paintings, and helped set them up in their reserved spot in Lake Francis Park. Rather than just sitting idle, waiting for the art commentators to show up, Patrick decided to walk around and look at other artists' work. Danny accompanied him, while Matt and Timmy kept watch at their spot.

One artist had a collection of real instruments laid out. As Patrick and Danny examined the tubas, guitars, banjo, and drum set closer, they he noticed that all of them had been damaged, not by time, but on purpose.

The artist, a psychedelic dresser with very long hair, accosted Danny and Patrick. "These works are all statements on the particular tortures of life in the music business."

"Come on, Patrick, we better not stare too long," Danny

mentioned. "We might get scared out of our band." To the artist, he explained, "We are musicians, you see."

"Oh," the man replied sympathetically. "Be careful out

there."

Soon, the two came across Lisa's exhibit. Like Patrick, she

also painted animals, but hers were more often of wildlife, and

depicted with realism, every hair on their body drawn

individually, whereas Patrick's animal paintings contained a

cartoon simplicity. She also had tender scenes of modern couples walking in the park, sharing a kiss, making‑‑Lisa threw herself in front of one lovers' painting before the two Innocents could get a good look at it. "Ah, don't look at that one, Patrick," she blurted. "It'll embarrass you." The blushing girl didn't appear completely at ease herself.

Patrick got the point. "Ohh!" He laughed. "Say, are you gonna say yes if Mr. Hals--"

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"Well, last time I was at the hall, Tony said he picked you."

"Say, that's all right, Patrick!" Danny congratulated.

"Me? But I'm not as good as you."

"Well, I guess you better take more pride in your work if Hals likes it," she advised.

"I guess. Well, nice seeing you again." He and Danny walked on, and finally went back to Patrick's exhibit.

As the morning continued, more and more of the public filed

  1. All types of people, Patrick realized, not just rich



sophisticates. It had been silly for him to get that impression, he realized. Some knowledgeable art critics, of whatever class they may have been, did pass by, and for the most part, they only gave Patrick's work a courteous glance, more intrigued by the mysteries of modern art. Patrick wished he hadn't left his tambourine painting at the museum.

Not everyone was like the art critics. A young mother walking by stopped and squealed with delight at Patrick's paintings. She ran back down the sidewalk to fetch her husband. "Michael! Look at this stuff! Isn't it adorable? Oh, wouldn't it be perfect for Donnie's room?"

"Yeah," Donnie's father agreed cheerfully. "Which one, though, Greta? Does he like dogs or cats better?"

"I know," the smart mother said. "Let's get him one of each." 

"Excuse me, sir," the husband called. Patrick snapped to attention. Timmy was dozing in the back of the van, and Danny and Matt had wandered off to find a snack vendor. Patrick had been sitting in a chair brought along from home, browsing through a teen music magazine, but mostly just daydreaming. He was surprised to see the young parents looking at him and his artwork expectantly. "Excuse me," the husband repeated. "How much are you selling these paintings for?"

"Huh? Oh, well‑‑" Patrick hadn't planned to sell his

paintings, although other artists were selling their works. The couple's interest, however, intrigued him. "Well, I hadn't set a price, but, um‑‑"

"Will you take twenty dollars each?" the man asked, already getting out his wallet.

"Uh, sure," Patrick readily consented, pleasantly surprised. "Oh, Donnie will love these," the novice mother chattily told

Patrick. "He just adores puppies and kittens. Donnie's our little boy. He's four years old, well, four this coming March, so it's close enough, you know. Oh, let's see, I really love the one with the mother cat carrying her little kitten. I guess that'll be one. As for the canine side of the family, let's see‑‑how 'bout that sad basset hound? What do you think, Michael?"

"Yeah, I like that one." Michael paid Patrick forty dollars, and took the dog painting. Greta grabbed hold of _Mother Cat and Kitten_ , and the happy parents walked away, leaving Patrick not only with some spending cash, but an ecstatic feeling.

Excitedly, he shook Timmy awake, and told him the news. "That's great, Patrick!" his friend congratulated. "What paintings did they take?"

"Well, the one of the mother cat carrying the kitten, and‑‑"

He felt a moment's regret. " _The Sad Basset Hound_. Now that I

think of it, I should've asked you guys first. I mean, we had it hanging out in the den."

"Well, I am gonna miss seeing him around," Timmy admitted.

"But, as long as that couple liked it enough to buy it, well, I

guess it's okay."

Matt's and Danny's feelings concurred with Timmy's when they heard the news upon returning. Michael and Greta were not the only parents who bought Patrick's paintings for their kids that day. _Puppies at Play_ , _Kitten Mewing_ , and _Puppies Sleeping_ were also sold.

"Man, I tell you one thing, though," Timmy remarked during

the ride home. "The den sure is gonna look different."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Timmy," Danny said. "He can

always paint some more."

"Yeah, especially now that I'm taking art lessons," Patrick

agreed.

V

It was the obvious decision after the art fair. He had

talent, his paintings had appeal, and he should develop his

artistic abilities. Patrick didn't know why Lisa wasn't the first choice, a greater percentage of her paintings were done with

detailed realism, but as Mr. Hals pointed out, Patrick was capable of fooling the eye. "Miss Monet's paintings are very nicely detailed," Mr. Hals had said. "But nobody would mistake her subjects for the real thing."

The Tuesday after the fair, Matt dropped Patrick off at Mr. Hals estate at seven, and planned to return at nine. A butler greeted Patrick at the door, and Patrick entered Hals' elegant home, reminiscent of his office and even more comfortable. Patrick waited in the drawing room, until Hals entered and escorted Patrick to the studio.

"I won't waste our time making small talk or reviewing the

fundamentals of art. You already know the basics of else you would not have been chosen. We will start your first assignment

immediately. You have already painted a lifelike replica of a

tambourine. But the true test of your artistic abilities will be too see if you can achieve what the masters achieved themselves. Your first assignment, then, is to re‑create a masterpiece."

He went to a table and took a stack of prints. They were

small copies of the paintings acquired for his museum. "You will be choosing your subject from among these examples. May I suggest choosing the pride of my collection‑‑Di Pinto's _Bathsheba_?"

Patrick covered his eyes to insure the bathing Bathsheba's

privacy. "Nah."

Hals chose to ignore his reaction, suggesting the one with

Greek heroes falling out of their clothes. Patrick passed that one by, too, and the war scene and historical scene were both filled with complicated detail. Patrick pulled out the print of Di Pinto's _Count Vile Metallo_. "This one here‑‑it's simple and it's basic, which is good since I'm just starting out‑‑I can work up to some of those other paintings later."

"Very well," Hals agreed.

"Besides, it isn't dirty at all."

Hals nearly exploded. "Dirty! Are you insinuating that the pride of our museum is dirty?"

"Well, I, uh‑‑"

"You are, aren't you? Young man, you may be an art student, but you are no student of art."

Patrick was tempted to cry. "I‑I just like to draw and paint, not look at paintings."

"That's exactly what I mean. At least Miss Monet takes an

interest in the work of the greats. She's always at the museum. Well, never mind, boy, never mind. All that can change as you

learn. We'll pick out a canvas for you, and then you can get

started on your preliminary work."

For a few hours every weekday, Patrick put intense work into

duplicating _Count Vile Metallo_. Patrick was more than pleased with his accomplishment. It wasn't perfect, but no one could tell at first or even second glance. Patrick was glad that Hals had left him alone for the most part. He checked in occasionally to mark his student's progress. He never was profuse with his praise, but he was generous with criticism. Patrick had broke down in tears more than one night during those last two weeks, wondering if even free art lessons were worth this price. He had wanted to at least

complete his first assignment, so he remained for now. Standing back, admiring his handiwork, it seemed as if it were worth it, but he reminded himself that time has a way of dimming pain's memories. Hals walked in. "I think I can call it finished now," Patrick told him. "What do you think, sir?"

Nervously, Patrick stood by while Hals scrutinized his

painting. "Hmmm..." He then pointed out two flaws. "Touch it up here, and here, and it'll do." He walked out of the room.

_Well, that's not too much to ask for_ , Patrick thought, getting back to work.

At home that night, with a smile, Patrick announced to his

friends, "I've finished my first assignment."

"Great!" Danny congratulated. "What's it look like?"

"It looks exactly like Di Pinto's _Vile Metallo_ ," Patrick replied chipperly.

"Well, that's wonderful, Patrick," Matt said. "Really. You'll have to let us see it sometime‑‑"

"Okay."

"‑‑But I'm still worried about this teacher of yours. I mean, when I picked you up some days, you were crying. I'm not sure you need to take art lessons from a teacher like that, especially when you already paint good."

"Well, there's always room for improvement," Patrick defended. 

"Yeah," Timmy spoke up. "But teachers should give constructive criticism, not destructive."

"I don't know, fellas," Danny said. "He seems pretty darn

proud of himself tonight."

Patrick became thoughtful, sitting down on the triangular seat. "Yeah, you know, I'm glad I finished that painting, but he does seem like an awfully cruel teacher sometimes."

"Well, now that you've completed the one painting," Matt

suggested. "Now would be a good time to decide whether you want to continue these lessons or not."

"But I hate to think I'm quitting."

"Quitting being a tormented artist, that is?" Timmy asked.

"Yeah, Patrick, you do just fine on your own," Danny pointed out.

"But everyone can always use some training," Patrick said. He sighed. "Okay, I'll think about it."

VI

The Four Innocents stood in the local artists section of Hals Hall. Between two of Lisa's paintings hung _Tambourine_.

"Are you sure you won't consider more lessons?" Hals pleaded with Patrick.

"No, I'm sorry, sir," the boy replied. "I'm honored, really, but the lessons might get in the way of our gigs. And besides, I'm just too sensitive."

"Yes, you did take the criticism rather too harshly," Hals admitted. "I'm sorry. But now I have no apprentice."

"What about Lisa?"

"Oh, her? She spends all her time arguing with me. She's too headstrong; you're too docile. From one extreme to another." He gestured at all four of the boys. "Gentlemen, if you'll step this way, I have something I'd like you to see."

"Not _Bathsheba_ , I hope," Danny said.

They walked into the fine arts room. Hals held his hand out towards the _Count Vile Metallo_. "That's the painting I made a copy of," Patrick told his friends.

"No, no, my dear boy," Hals corrected. "That's the copy you made of the painting."

Patrick squinted, walking up to the painting to examine it more closely. He recognized his own strokes. "Hey, yeah, it is. Why'd you put mine up instead of Di Pinto's?"

"I'm having Di Pinto's taken in for restoration," Hals explained. "But I realized that nobody needed to miss the old Count."

Danny put an arm around Patrick. "Welcome to the league of the masters, old boy."


	5. Surfer Boy

SURFER BOY

I

"It's the biggest, wackiest, wildest, grooviest beach flick yet," the announcer said. "Come join all your favorite stars--Bellamy Cash, Megan Llewllyn, Natalie Nite, Janet Dean, and a host of others for a swinging, rollicking, rocking good time. Also featuring appearances by today's hottest acts--the Teen Idols, Vincent Volante, and the Surfer Girls. It's Sandy Summer, coming soon to a theater near you."

"I've got to see that," Timmy remarked to his friends as they sat watching television.

"Oh, yes," Matt agreed, putting on an intellectual air. "A definitive study of the lifestyles of Southern California--the beach bunnies, the surfers, the long-haired weirdos..."

Timmy squinted. "You know something? All this time I've been living here in Southern California, considering myself and being considered a California boy, but I've never learned to surf."

"So? I'm an Indian but I never learned to hunt and gather."

"Yeah, but I've always been into surf music, like it was a part of me..."

Danny broke in, clambering down the staircase. "Yeah, and I've always been into hunting and gathering music."

"Knock it off," Matt pleaded in mock irritation.

Danny continued. "Besides, Timmy, a lot of the musicians in those surf bands don't know how to surf either."

Timmy shrugged. "Maybe they do, maybe they don't. But I wanna know how."

II

With his share of the money the band had earned from a gig supplied by the Wellingtons, Timmy went down to the South Pier Surf Shop to purchase supplies. Looking around the store, he realized with frustration just how confused he was about where to start.

Finally, he decided to ask the clerk for help, assuming that he must be trained on this subject. The clerk was behind the register, talking with a tan and pretty girl who seemed to be Asian in origin. Timmy shyly let them continue with their conversation, occasionally trying to cut in with a nearly silent "Excuse me..." or "Um, sir...?"

Eventually, the two noticed his presence. "Yes?" asked the clerk, a blonde in his late twenties.

"I'm kinda new to the surfing scene, and I don't know where to start."

"The ocean's a good place," the clerk replied dryly. 

Timmy blushed. "No, really, I--"

The girl smiled, and the clerk interrupted Timmy. "Maylea here is a top notch surfer girl. Grew up at Waimea Bay. Why don't you show him around, Maylea?"

"I'd be happy to," she said.

"So you got everything you need to?" Matt asked, helping Timmy manuever his board through the door.

"Yep." They leaned the board against the wall.

Patrick and Danny looked at everything they had brought in. "Board, wax, wetsuit..." Danny observed.

"And instructor," Timmy added.

Patrick shook the hair out of his eyes. "Where?"

"Down the shore tomorrow. Maylea's gonna show me how they ride the waves in Hawaii--only California style."

Danny pointed an accusing finger at Timmy. "Is she young? Is she pretty?" he demanded, as though he were a jealous wife.

"Yeah, so?" Timmy replied.

Danny crossed his arms, looking smug. "Then watch out she doesn't knock you off side of the head with her board and drag you home to meet her folks."

Timmy shrugged, knowing that his bandmate was only joking. "Whatever."

III

During the couple of hours they had practiced in the late morning, Maylea had glided along the waves like a flying fish, while Timmy had only just gotten the hang of standing up on the board.

At noon, they decided to break for lunch. Timmy rubbed his face into a towel, then gagged on some salt water in the back of his throat. "Man, I hate that stuff!" he exclaimed, hurriedly getting a bottle of Pensa Cola out of the cooler.

"Well, lesson one accomplished," Maylea stated.

After gulping down half of the bottle, Timmy told her, "Man, I'll never get to where you are. I think you were born on the waves."

"You think I learned in one day?"

"Well, no, but you make it seem that way."

"Have more patience with yourself. I bet if we went to your place and I tried playing the drums, I'd feel ridiculous."

"Point taken. Shall we hit the hot dog stand?"

"I'm with you." The two ran to get their lunch.

All through that month, Timmy would try to meet with Maylea at least a couple of times per week. Sometimes, a bandmate or two or three would come along to observe, but only Danny ever decided to actually join in.

Then one day, Maylea announced to her student, "There's an amateur surf contest coming up soon. I want you in it."

"I don't have a choice?" Timmy wondered.

"If you participate in this contest, you'll feel like a surfer instead of somebody learning how to surf. Besides, it's not for intimidating professionals. It's for guys just like you, maybe some girls, too."

"Well, if you think I'm ready..."

"I say you're ready," she told him. "But let's get in a little more practice just in case."

IV

The Santa Virginia Surf Meet was an endurance as well as a skill contest; whoever was left out on the waves was the winner. Matt, Danny, and Patrick were all there to support Timmy; Maylea stood with them as well. She had already surfed professionally, so she did not enter the contest. Timmy was one among twenty amateur contestants.

"How do you think he's doing?" Matt asked Maylea.

"Pretty good considering."

"Considering? What do you mean by that?"

"Considering he's just started this year."

One-by-one, ten participants exhausted themselves, and dragged themselves to shore.

"He's still in there," Patrick observed.

"In the top half," Danny added proudly.

Another surfer pulled out of the game.

"Hey, look at that!" Matt cried.

They watched Timmy catch a large wave and ride alongside it. "Looks like the real thing," Danny remarked.

But the thrill didn't last for long, as the water overpowered Timmy and cast him down under the surface. Not long after, Timmy dragged his surfboard to shore, sputtering at the taste of sodium. "Man, I hate that salt water! It gets up your nose and into your eyes and scratches your throat and everything!"

"Oh, Timmy!" Maylea exclaimed, she and his three bandmates all trying to hug him at once.

"Careful, I'm all wet," he warned. "So how'd I do?" he asked his trainer. 

"Well, it looks like your number nine out of twenty," she said. "I don't think that's too bad for your first time."

"Yeah, I'm happy with it. And you're right, it did make me feel like a real surfer instead of just someone learning to be one." He sat down on the band's beach blanket, and pulled out a bottle of cola. His bandmates and Maylea also sat down. "And now that I can consider myself a surfer, I think I'll retire for a while."

"What!" Maylea demanded.

"I hate that salt up my nose," Timmy explained.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, Timmy."

"Besides, I've been getting sunburned a lot. My fair complexion, you know."

"That's okay," Maylea said. "Besides, I won't be there to train you anymore."

"What!" Timmy demanded.

"I'm going back home to Hawaii."

"That's too bad."

She winked. "Of course, you could always come with me."

"I'll miss you," he said simply.

She laughed. "Your bandmates would be welcome to come along, too, of course."

"Oh, really?" Danny wondered. "Great!"

"When we can afford it, sure," Matt said.

"And then we can start you on the waves at Waimea Bay," Maylea said. "They'll make the waves here look like a kiddie pool."

Timmy groaned, and sank back on the blanket, splashing cola on himself.

"I'll miss you, too," Maylea said knowingly.


	6. A Perfect Day

## A PERFECT DAY

The Four Innocents had a game they played called gat. Basically, it was like tag, but backwards. Instead of one person chasing the others, three Innocents would gang up and chase a fourth one. When that one was caught, things usually ended in a mock struggle on the ground, as though they were puppies play-fighting. This morning, they were involved in yet another impromptu game. Right now, it was Danny who was it; that is to say, it was he who was on the run.

The game had started in the bedroom, and Danny had quickly scampered downstairs, then out the door. He ran along the beach, panting hard as though he were desperately trying to escape great evil.

He was way past Francene’s and Amity’s house now. Where were the fellas? Had they even followed him outside? Danny paused, gazing around. Suddenly, Patrick plowed into him, knocking both of them to the ground. They rolled down a slight incline between and in back of the Adams’ and the Jones’ homes.

They lay exhausted on the sand. Then Danny giggled. Patrick laughed. They looked at each other fondly.

“Okay, ya got me,” Danny confessed. “Is it your turn? Where are Timmy and Matt?”

“Oh, they’re around.” Matt and Timmy came around from in front of the Adams’ house. “There they are.”

“You know, the neighbors are gonna have our necks for this,” Danny pointed out, realizing Patrick had been watching him from the front of the row of houses while Danny had run in back of them. Matt and Timmy joined them on the ground, and they lay in a circle in back of the Adams’ house. “They’re not gonna like this either. Us lying here.”

“We’re flat against the ground,” Matt pointed out. “They’re not going to see us.”

They heard the back door opening and the pitter-patter of little feet. Tiny blonde Alice and her beagle, Honey, walked over. “What’re you doin’?” she asked. The beagle got on top of Patrick’s chest and licked his face enthusiastically.

“Nothin’,” Danny answered. “You wanna join us?”

“No,” she said with childlike frankness, then added after a moment’s thought, “But Honey does.” Honey now had her front paws up on Timmy’s torso, and was licking his lips. Timmy giggled.

The dog licked everybody, and Alice went in and out again. Now she was carrying a water can. She occupied herself for a few minutes, watering the potted plants at the back of the house, and the Four Innocents ceased paying attention to her. Honey lay at Patrick’s feet.

The four bandmates were rudely startled by Alice pouring sea water on their faces. They sat up, spluttering. “Now why’d you do that for?” Danny demanded.

Alice shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Mrs. Adams stepped out on the porch. “What are you boys doing here?”

“They’re doin’ nothin’, Mama,” Alice answered.

“Would you like to join us for lunch? We’re having a hot dog cookout.”

“Hot dogs!” shrieked Alice.

Honey emitted a noise somewhere between a bark and a howl.

The Four Innocents made the effort to turn the offer down. “No, really, it’s okay,” Mrs. Adams insisted. “We were going to have the Saunders over, but they called up last minute and said they couldn’t come.”

So Mr. and Mrs. Adams, Alice, and the band sat down at the patio table and the picnic table in back of the house. Even Honey had a hot dog, purposefully dropped to the ground by Alice. The beagle sat underneath the child’s feet for the rest of lunch, looking up expectedly and licking her chops.

Danny explained to Alice and her parents the rules, as they were, behind gat. “After lunch, can I be it?” she asked.

“Sure. Right, fellas?”

So while Mr. and Mrs. Adams cleaned up, the bandmates stood by on the porch, while Alice waited on the beach. “Okay one two three go,” Danny counted, and Alice ran off squealing. The four bounded after her. Danny caught her, and hoisted her up in the air, above his own head. “Look, now you’re flying!”

“Danny’s it,” Patrick said.

“No, I already was it. You should be it from when you tagged me earlier.”

“Honey it! Honey it!” Alice insisted.

Honey sat by, wagging her tail. The four friends and Alice slowly approached her. Instead of running, she rolled over on her back, exposing her tummy.

“ _That’s_ not how you play!” Danny scolded the dog, while Timmy rubbed her tummy. “You’re supposed to run, not show us your belly! That’s what Timmy did to get out of playing gat.”

“I exposed my belly?” Timmy asked, squinting in confusion.

“No, you just sat down on the floor and wouldn’t move.”

Timmy shrugged.

“Let’s try it again,” Danny suggested, and they stalked the dog. This time, the hound ran off aways, then ran back. They repeated procedures, and Honey got so excited she ran around the house twice.

“Hey, be careful she doesn’t go out in the street,” Patrick warned.

The beagle tore around the house again, then pounced on Timmy’s knees. He fell into a sitting position on the sand.

“Looks like you’re it again,” Matt said.

“ _She’s_ the one who’s supposed to get tagged,” Timmy pointed out.

Honey sat there with her tongue hanging out, a great big smile upon her face.

“Alice, Dada and I are going in for our naps,” Mrs. Adams called out. “You and Honey had better come in.”

“But we was playing!”

“No, it’s okay,” Danny said. “Better listen to your mother.”

“Okay.”

So the Four Innocents were left alone on the beach. “That nap idea sounds good,” Timmy remarked.

Danny and Patrick dozed off in their beds upstairs, but for some reason, the four seat sectional couch looked more inviting to Timmy, and the psychiatrist couch called to Matt. He lay there, his face turned to the side, one hand trailing on the floor.

When they got up, it was suppertime. Matt took over these duties, as he often, but not always, did. He worked on chicken “parmigiana”, with eight chicken breasts, spaghetti sauce, and slices of mozzarella cheese. “I learned from my mother how to cook,” Matt said, as Timmy peered curiously over his shoulder. “Here, I’ll show you.”

“Yet another way we’ll lose our masculinity,” Timmy said jokingly.

Matt shoved this notion aside with a raspberry-like sound. “It’s a good skill to have—especially for us, living without any females in the house. Besides, most of the great chefs of the world are male.”

“Eet ees zee great chef, Matt Winwardeaux,” Timmy burst out.

“Not _the_ Matt Winwardeaux?” Danny asked, popping up between them.

“ _Oui_ , it is he.”

Danny tapped Matt on the shoulder. “Just where do you get off charging fifty dollars for a two bit steak?”

“Hey, look, if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it,” Matt countered. He called out to Patrick. “Pierre, see that this man gets assigned dishwasher duty. He did not bring enough francs to cover his meal.”

“ _Sí._ ”

“Don’t you mean _oui_?” Danny asked.

Patrick looked confused. “No, not we. Just you.”

Danny and Timmy looked at each other and shrugged.

After supper, Matt decided the band had best get a little practice in. “We gotta big show coming up tomorrow. Let’s try ‘Mallory’.”

“Put down those maracas, Danny,” Timmy said suddenly. “And give me that tambourine.”

“Okay,” Danny agreed, but a question was in his eyes.

Timmy gestured at his drum stool. “You sit here.”

“What’re you--?” Matt began.

“Danny knows the drum part to ‘Mallory,’” Timmy explained. “I taught it to him. For just one number, I’d like to move around up front, instead of being stuck behind the drums.”

“Well, okay,” Matt agreed with hesitation. “Let’s see what you got in mind. One two three four.”

As Matt played the creepy opening notes, Timmy tiptoed up behind him, then peered over his bandleader’s shoulder. “Mallory, sneaking up behind you…” He then looked over Matt’s other shoulder. “Mallory—look out, she’s gonna find you.”

He stepped to center stage, shaking the tambourine. “Mallory—she’ll never be the girl you leave behind/Because she’s got an obsessive mind.”

Here the song went into repeating the name Mallory over and over. Timmy walked up to Patrick, stuck his face right up against his friend’s cheek, and they sang—Patrick descending notes, and Timmy ascending.

For the next verse, Timmy then kneeled in conspiratory fashion toward an imagined audience. “Mallory, I loved her but let her go/Mallory—she’ll refuse to say it’s so.” Timmy sang at the top of his lungs, looking as if he were in sweet agony. “Mallory, she’ll never be the girl you leave behind/Because she’s got an obsessive mind.”

“Mallory,” he crooned, walking back to Patrick and putting an arm around his neck. Again, they sang together.

Danny finished the song with a dramatic drum roll and cymbal crashes.

“Yeah, that’s pretty good,” Matt remarked. “Let’s try it at the festival tomorrow.”

Matt had suggested they all to bed at the same time, because the festivities began in the morning. Usually, Patrick and Timmy stayed up late.

Matt and Timmy had already attempted to retire, but Danny, coming out of the bathroom after washing his hair, saw a light on in Patrick’s studio. Turning the bathroom’s own light off, and adjusting the wet towel around his neck, Danny decided to check things out.

The door was ajar. Danny pushed it open a little more. “Hey, Patrick, what’s up?”

“I’m just looking at my paintings,” Patrick answered, sitting on a stool and cradling an acoustic guitar. “Trying to settle down.”

“Why’ve you got the guitar up here?”

Patrick shrugged. “’N case the art don’t work, I guess.”

Danny came over to see how Patrick’s latest painting was progressing.

“Are you nervous about playing the drums tomorrow?” Patrick asked.

“What?”

“It’ll be your first time in public.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But I’m always a little nervous before gigs. It’s only natural.”

“That’s true.”

“You know what Timmy told me once?” Danny’s face grew incredulous as he said, “He told me he felt guilty about being nervous before shows, because there’s some verse in the Bible that ‘commands’ something like ‘let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid’. Did he tell you that?”

Patrick shook his head. “No, but that verse is meant to comfort, man. Timmy’s too hung up, trying to _obey_ it.”

Danny shook his head. “Ooh, Timmy. At least he’s not like he used to be. Depressed half the time. He’s been a lot happier ever since Matt came on the scene. So I guess he’s over it.”

“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I think the guilt trips, they’re…I dunno…” He struggled for the right words. “I think the guilt and the sadness are different sides of the same thing.”

Danny nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe you ought to be a psychiatrist. Or psychologist. Do you know what the difference is? A psychologist and a psychiatrist?”

Patrick stared at him. “Who, _me_?”

Danny nodded again.

“Don’t tell Timmy this, Danny, but sometimes I’m scared. Scared something’s gonna happen to him. Or he’s gonna do something to himself.”

Danny put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Patrick, no, no! Timmy’s not—” He stopped, then began reciting the verse brought up earlier. “‘Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.’ Timmy hasn’t been depressed since before we started the band.

“We’ve done all right for ourselves,” Danny continued. “Look at us. Me and you. Back in ’65 there was just your dream of being in a band, and I was just your friend. That is, your friend until I went back to England. But I’m still here with you, we’re both in the band, and we’ve got two groovy bandmates.”

Patrick grinned. “Maybe we have made it, after all.” He strummed a few chords gently. Danny recognized it as a song the two of them had written, Danny the lyrics, and Patrick the tune. Danny sang:

“If you were my lover it might be true

But you’re my friend and I won’t leave you

Like hot fashion trends lovers come and go

But when you find a friend then you take it slow

I’ve dated many girls I never saw again

But I won’t let you go because you’re my friend

Since the day I met you my life’s been rearranged

Want to keep you near, priorities have changed”

They smiled at each other as they finished the song, and Danny let out a breath of air. “Well, a game of gat, a free cookout, an afternoon nap, a good dinner, a nice conversation—I’d say it’s been a perfect day.”

“As perfect as a day on _earth_ can be,” Patrick pointed out. “When we get to heaven, I’ll bet they’ll be even better.”


	7. For Richer, For Poorer

FOR RICHER, FOR POORER

I

Rock bottom. Rock'n'roll bottom, that is. 1967 has started out okay, but now it was going downhill. No gig for weeks, but continual rejections and firings. The money the Wellingtons had given them had run out, and even the Marshalls, who had hired a full-time stablehand, didn't have much work to offer Danny. There seemed to be a lull in both work for musicians and for ordinary laborers, as well, and Matt worried about their getting work in time for next month's rent. To top it off, their food supply was in danger of ceasing to exist.

That afternoon, the four lay slumped in the den, back from two auditions more tiring emotionally than physically. Danny, on the armed couch, groaned aloud and looked down at Patrick and Timmy, who were sitting on the floor. The two were literally licking their dinner plates clean. 

Matt looked at them and sighed, retiring to the guest room.

"I wonder what he's going in there for," Patrick said.

"Well, we said when we moved in that the guest room could also be used as a private getaway room for any one of us," Timmy mentioned.

"Yeah, that's just what I was wondering--Why does he want to get away--" Patrick realized there were obvious reasons why Matt needed to escape from reality. "--From us, I mean."

"Don't take it personally, Patrick," Danny advised. "Everyone needs some time to themselves." 

"Watch the seagulls, Doreen," Matt said aloud, remembering how he had talked actress Doreen Latimer out of killing herself. "When you see them fly, sometimes you feel you're flying with them."

Flying right over the edge of a cliff, perhaps. It sounded tempting. But what would Doreen think of him if she saw him now?

It was funny, Doreen had had plenty of money, a nice apartment, and the adulation of the television audience. Still, she had been so despondent, and had lived such a messed up life. "Money don't mean happiness," Matt told himself. "Maybe lack of money doesn't mean unhappiness." After all, the bond between himself and his three friends was still strong. They'd always been happy, even though the bandmates had never known an upper or middle class lifestyle since moving in together.

That led him back to thinking about why they had had to do with less materially ever since then.

II

Matt and Danny were sitting on the porch when Timmy and Patrick bounded out. "So, how you blokes doing?" Danny wondered.

"Oh, fine," Timmy replied, and Patrick giggled. They ran out on to the beach, taking turns chasing each other. Danny laughed at their antics, and jumped up to join them. 

Matt remained seated on the porch, his head in his hands. He watched his friends silently for a few minutes. Then, related to no particular subject that the boys had been talking about, Matt suddenly muttered, "Rent's coming up and we haven't played any gigs this month. Or worked any jobs."

"Why'd you have to bring that up?" Danny wondered. "Just come on and join us!"

Timmy sighed. "Matt's right. The rent's due...Yikes! Tomorrow! How we gonna raise the cash real quick?"

"We could sell something to the pawn shop," Patrick suggested.

"Garvey's not a villain, Matt," Danny consoled. "Perhaps he'll give us time."

"Yeah, I just wish we had a way to pay the rent this month," Matt said worriedly. "Mr. Garvey probably won't put up with another late payment."

"Oh, Matt, don't worry about that," Danny told him. "Mr.

Garvey has different values than us, but like I said, he's not a villain."

"And think of all the times we did pay the rent on time,"

Patrick added.

"Yeah, but if he threw us out, I couldn't blame him,” Matt pointed out.

"The girls or Jim and Caroline will always take us in for a while," Timmy pointed out. "Or maybe even May Hamilton. At least until we get back on our feet again."

"Yeah, they would," Patrick said. "So wouldn't the Wellingtons--they said anytime we needed a favor..."

Matt didn't seem to hear. "I'm a failure," he whispered.

"We could sell the van," Patrick said. "And take the bus instead."

"Yeah, but how we gonna lug the drum set to and from gigs?" Matt pointed out.

"We could sell the drum set, too," Timmy joked, but Matt didn't laugh.

He was quiet for a moment, then told his bandmates, "Actually, I do have some money we can use, but it's our insurance money. I didn't take out a policy, but I've been putting money away in an account in case of emergencies--"

"And this is an emergency," Timmy pointed out.

That hadn't been part of Matt's train of thought, emergencies to him meaning injuries or sickness, but it rang true. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. This is a case of emergency."

The rain had just cleared when Garvey came round for the rent. Matt had taken the money out of the bank and had it ready. The Four Innocents' bandleader and the landlord stood on either side of the open doorway as they made their transaction. 

Out in the street, Danny was fetching the mail as Ace approached on a motorcycle. As he came into sight of his uncle, Ace was distracted, and his vehicle skidded on the wet road. It careened towards Danny. The boy jumped back, the mail flying from his hand. Just before crashing into the mailbox, Ace managed to turn the motorcycle around. He stopped it, panting. Danny, sitting on the ground where he had fallen, also gasped for breath. Matt and Garvey stared on in shock.

Then Danny got up and picked the damp mail off the street. "Sorry," Ace apologized hurriedly.

"Accident," Danny replied just as quickly. "Well, almost."

"Yeah." Ace started the motorcycle back up and resumed his drive down the street.

Danny entered the house. As he passed Matt, his bandleader grabbed him and whispered in his ear, "If you had gotten hurt, we wouldn't have had any money to pay for your treatment."

"But I didn't get hurt," Danny argued.

Later, that afternoon, the boys were brainstorming for leads.

"They're advertising some temporary labor jobs in the paper," Timmy pointed out, sitting on the armed couch.

"Francene's talking about a neighborhood yard sale," Patrick brought up.

"Let's go down and see Mel," Danny suggested. "Maybe he's got a lead on some new gigs."

"We'll check out all those things," Matt agreed. "But I'm taking this cabinet down to the pawn shop. We need at least a little bit of money in our savings account."

"Good idea," Danny said.

Matt seemed distant. "Yeah, good idea," he muttered.

"Something wrong?" Danny asked.

"Well, we don't have much money, but you know that."

"Something wrong personally?"

"No, nothing."

III

Danny knew Matt had been acting suspiciously lately. Any news of their poor financial state, and the Innocents' bandleader would cast his eyes upon the ground. Danny guessed it was not a desire for wealth that caused his friend to do this. More likely, he was bowing his head in shame. Danny noticed other times when Matt seemed moody, and he guessed it was also connected to his guilt. If Danny asked his bandleader about it, all he got were the words, "Nothing's the matter. I'm fine."

In his first few minutes awake that morning, Danny hoped it would come out into the open soon. Then at least he could help. He sat up, noticing that Timmy and Patrick were sound asleep, but Matt had left the room.

Danny got dressed and exited the room himself. Before he could make it downstairs, he was startled by a brief moment of painful sobbing. It was Matt.

Matt exited the bathroom, astonished to see Danny standing right before him. "What's wrong?" Danny asked.

"Nothing," Matt replied again, and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Danny followed at his heels. "Don't say nothing. I clearly heard you cry about something. Please don't be afraid to tell me what it is. I won't laugh or anything--you yourself told us it takes a braver man to cry than it does to force it back."

Matt stared into the refrigerator and removed the orange juice. "I cut myself shaving," he snapped. He retrieved a glass from the cabinet.

"Oh," Danny said, mentally shrugging. An oath shouted out loud or muttered under breath seemed a more likely reaction to a razor wound.

"I knew you'd think it silly," Matt accused, pouring his drink.

"No," Danny told him hurriedly, but he still did not believe him. Even if he did cry for the reasons he had said, other problems must have worn him down to the point where little things could start him off. Danny turned away and fetched his breakfast.

He sat down at the table, to the right of Matt, who remained silent. Danny stared at his face, clean-shaven but unnicked. He then noticed how Matt was keeping his left hand under the table.

Leaving his cereal unfinished, Danny rose and walked to Matt's other side. His friend looked up at him curiously. "Your arm," Danny demanded. Matt cringed.

Danny pulled it up forcefully. On Matt's wrist was a razor cut. It wasn't much; the blood had already dried, but the location scared Danny. His bandleader had been thinking about suicide.

"I didn't really want to do it," Matt explained, reading Danny's thoughts. "That's why it was such a feeble attempt."

"But still, you made the gesture--"

Matt sighed and pulled his arm away.

"Matt, why? Aren't you happy here?"

Matt nodded. "I'm happy here. You fellas are wonderful, you really are. I wish you didn't have to find out."

"Wish I didn't have to find out? What if you actually went through with it?"

Matt shook his head. "Nah, I don't think I could." He attempted to finish his breakfast, but found himself just nibbling at it without appetite.

"You've got to tell me what's troubling you," Danny insisted. "I don't want Timmy and Patrick to hear."

"We'll go in the guest room. Come on." Danny walked towards it, stopping to glance behind him. Matt sighed and rose.

He sat down on the edge of the guest bed, and after shutting the door, Danny sat down beside him. "I, you see, it's..." Matt began, emotion clouding his speech.

Seeing how hard it was for Matt to put into words, Danny voiced his theory. "You're upset about us not making much money, aren't you?"

"I don't care about money."

"But you're still upset."

"Well, yeah, cause I'm your--"

Danny felt this was already a cliche. "Because you're our bandleader and it’s your duty to make sure we have money."

"Well, it is, isn't it?"

"Sure, but we don't expect you to make us an overnight success."

"I should be able to keep us out of poverty, though."

"Matt, we don't think of ourselves as being the needy. Timmy, Patrick, and I are having so much fun we don't even notice. It's a shame you're so worried about making us miserable that you're not having the time of your life as well."

Matt shrugged. "I suppose. I have fun with you guys, but the responsibility..."

"You're doing the best you can do. You're more than we ever hoped for. Look, what were we doing when we first met you?"

Matt muttered a reply.

"What's that?"

"Hoping to be a band."

"That's right. We kept saying 'someday', but we weren't doing anything to make it a reality. Then you came along and got us organized. And now we have a household of our own and we've played a good number of gigs. We've even performed our own songs and not just covers."

"We don't play enough gigs, though."

"Matt, you know how many bands there are in the greater Los Angeles area. And we've not been playing much over a year. It takes time to get a footing, so take it easy."

"I guess you're right."

Danny stood up and faced Matt. "Say that like you believe it, cause I am right. I was thinking maybe we could release you from your position, but the band needs your guidance too much. Besides, I think you make a great leader--you're more interested in the welfare of your subjects than you are in having power. Now how many leaders out there can you name that are really like that?"

"Well, I'm sure they're out there."

"Yeah, but you don't hear a lot about them, because like you, they're humble. But speaking for Timmy and Patrick and myself, I can say we're very proud of you." Danny reached over and hugged Matt.

IV

Matt, Danny, and Patrick finished packing up the merchandise that remained unsold after the yard sale. "Well, we didn't do too bad," Matt said.

"Yeah, what with Timmy's stuff he collected," Danny added. "Oh, here he comes now."

The van pulled up and Timmy got out. "So how was your day?" Matt asked.

"Oh, fine. Just really pushed this broom around."

"Going back tomorrow?"

"No, all they needed was one day. But, hey, it's a few bucks earned."

"Yeah, that's good," Matt agreed. "Too bad we didn't pass the audition."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Danny chided. "We've made a dent towards the rent anyway, and we still got a few weeks." "Yeah," Matt said. "That's good." Then, without warning, he leaped upon Danny and they tumbled to the ground.

"All right, puppy fight!" Timmy cried, and he and Patrick jumped into the fray.


End file.
